u 

J 


TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A 
BAR  ROOM 


PS 


CONTENTS 


NIGHT  THE  FIEST.  FAGS 

TH«  "SICKLE  AND  SHEAF" .     7 

NIGHT  THE  SECOND. 
THE  CHANGES  OF  A  YEAR 89 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD. 
JOE  MORGAN'S  CHILD 64 

NIGHT  THE  FOURTH. 
DEATH  OF  LITTLE  MART  MORGAN 89 

NIGHT  THE  FIFTH. 

SOME  OF  THE  CONSEQUENCES  OF  TAVERN-KEEP- 
ING  Ill 

NIGHT  THE  SIXTH. 
MORE  CONSEQUENCES 141 

NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH. 
BOWING  THE  WIND IPO 


vi  CONTENTS. 

NIGHT  THE  EIGHTH.               PAM 
REAPING  THE  WHIRLWIND 203 

NIGHT  THE  NINTH. 
A  FEABFUI,  CONSUMMATION 232 

NIGHT  THE  TENTH. 
THE  CLOSING  SCENE  AT  THE  "  SICKLE  AND 
SHEA*" 246 


TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 


NIGHT  THE  FIRST. 

The  "Sickle  and  Sheaf" 

TEN  years  ago,  business  required  me  to 
pass  a  day  in  Cedarville.  It  was  late  in  the 
afternoon  when  the  stage  set  me  down  at 
the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  a  new  tavern,  just 
opened  by  a  new  landlord,  in  a  new  house, 
built  with  the  special  end  of  providing  "  ac- 
commodations for  man  and  beast."  As  I 
stepped  from  the  dusty  old  vehicle  in  which 
I  had  been  jolted  along  a  rough  road  for 
some  thirty  miles,  feeling  tired  and  hungry, 
the  good-natured  face  of  Simon  Slade,  the 
landlord,  beaming  as  it  did  with  a  hearty 
welcome,  was  really  a  pleasant  sight  to  see, 
and  the  grasp  of  his  hand  was  like  that  of  a 
true  friend. 

I  felt,  as  I  entered  the  new  and  neatly 
furnished  sitting-room  adjoining  the  bar, 
that  I  had  indeed  found  a  comfortable  rest- 
ing-place after  my  wearisome  journey. 

All  as  nice  as  a  new  pin,"  said  I,  approv- 
ingly, as  I  glanced  around  the  room,  up  to 

(7) 


8  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-BOOM. 

the  ceiling — white  as  the  driven  snow— 
and  over  the  handsomely  carpeted  floor. 
**  Haven't  seen  anything  so  inviting  as  this. 
How  long  have  you  been  open  ?" 

"  Only  a  few  months,"  answered  the  grati- 
fied landlord.  "  But  we  are  not  yet  in  good 
going  order.  It  takes  time,  you  know,  to 
bring  everything  into  the  right  shape.  Have 
you  dined  yet?" 

"  No.  Everything  looked  so  dirty  at  the 
stage-house  where  we  stopped  to  get  dinner, 
that  I  couldn't  venture  upon  the  experiment 
of  eating.  How  long  before  your  supper 
will  be  ready  ?" 

"  In  an  hour,"  replied  the  landlord. 

"  That  will  do.  Let  me  have  a  nice  piece 
of  tender  steak,  and  the  loss  of  dinner  will 
soon  be  forgotten." 

"  You  shall  have  that,  cooked  fit  for  an 
alderman,"  said  the  landlord.  "  I  call  my 
wife  the  best  cook  in  Cedar ville." 

As  he  spoke,  a  neatly  dressed  girl,  about 
sixteen  years  of  age,  with  rather  an  attract- 
ive countenance,  passed  through  the  room. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  the  landlord,  as  she 
vanished  through  the  door.  There  was  a 
sparkle  of  pride  in  the  father's  eyes,  and  a 
certain  tenderness  in  the  tones  of  his  voice, 
as  he  said  "My  daughter,"  that  told  me 
she  was  very  dear  to  him. 

"  You  are  a  happy  man  to  have  so  fair  a 
child,"  said  I,  speaking  more  in  compliment 
than  with  a  careful  choice  of  words. 


NIGHT  TEE  FIRST.  9 

"  I  am  a  happy  man,"  was  the  landlord's 
smiling  answer;  his  fair,  round  face,  un- 
wrinkled  by  a  line  of  care  or  trouble,  beam- 
ing with  self-satisfaction.  UI  have  always 
been  a  happy  man,  and  always  expect  to  be. 
Simon  Slade  takes  the  world  as  it  comes, 
and  takes  it  easy.  My  son,  sir,"  he  added, 
as  a  boy  in  his  twelfth  year  came  in. 
"  Speak  to  the  gentleman." 

The  boy  lifted  to  mine  a  pair  of  deep  blue 
eyes,  from  which  innocence  beamed  as  he 
offered  me  his  hand  and  said,  respectfully — 
"  How  do  you  do,  sir?"  I  could  not  but  re- 
mark the  girl-like  beauty  of  his  face,  in 
which  the  hardier  firmness  of  the  boy's  char- 
acter was  already  visible. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Frank,  sir." 

"  Frank  is  his  name,"  said  the  landlord — 
"  we  called  him  after  his  uncle.  Frank  and 
Flora — the  names  sound  pleasant  to  our 
ears.  But,  you  know,  parents  are  apt  to  be 
a  little  partial  and  over-fond." 

"  Better  that  extreme  than  its  opposite,"  I 
remarked. 

"  Just  what  I  always  say.  Frank,  my  son," 
the  landlord  spoke  to  the  boy,  "  there's  some 
one  in  the  bar.  You  can  wait  on  him  as 
well  as  I  can." 

The  lad  glided  from  the  room  in  ready 
obedience. 

"A  handy  boy  that,  sir ;  a  very  handy 
boy.  Almost  as  good  in  the  bar  as  a  man. 


10  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-BOOM. 

He  mixes  a  toddy  or  a  punch  just  as  well  as 
I  can." 

"  But,"  I  suggested,  "are  you  not  a  little 
afraid  of  placing  one  so  young  in  the  way  of 
temptation  ?' ' 

"  Temptation !"  The  open  brows  of  Simon 
Slade  contracted  a  little.  "No, sir!"  he  re- 
plied, emphatically.  "  The  till  is  safer  under 
his  care  than  it  would  be  in  that  of  one  man 
in  ten.  The  boy  comes,  sir,  of  honest  pa- 
rents. Simon  Slade  never  wronged  anybody 
out  of  a  farthing." 

"Oh,"  said  I,  quickly,  "you  altogether 
misapprehend  me.  I  had  no  reference  to 
the  till,  but  to  the  bottle." 

The  landlord's  brows  were  instantly  un- 
bent, and  a  broad  smile  circled  over  his 
good-humored  face. 

"Is  that  all?  Nothing  to  fear,  I  can  as- 
sure you.  Frank  has  no  taste  for  liquor,  and 
might  pour  it  out  for  months  without  a  drop 
rinding  its  way  to  his  lips.  Nothing  to  ap- 
prehend there,  sir;  nothing." 

I  saw  that  further  suggestions  of  danger 
would  be  useless,  and  so  remained  silent. 
The  arrival  of  a  traveller  called  away  the 
landlord,  and  I  was  left  alone  for  observa- 
tion and  reflection.  The  bar  adjoined  the 
neat  sitting-room,  and  I  could  see,  through 
the  open  door,  the  customer  upon  whom  the 
lad  was  attending.  He  was  a  well-dressed 
young  man — or  rather  boy,  for  he  did  not 
appear  to  be  over  nineteen  years  of  age — 


NIGHT  THE  FIRST.  11 

with  a  fine,  intelligent  face,  that  was  already 
slightly  marred  by  sensual  indulgence.  He 
raised  the  glass  to  his  lips  with  a  quick,  al- 
most eager  motion,  and  drained  it  at  a  single 
draught. 

"  Just  right,"  said  he,  tossing  a  sixpence 
to  the  young  bar-tender.  "  You  are  first- 
rate  at  a  brandy-toddy.  Never  drank  a 
better  in  my  life." 

The  lad's  smiling  face  told  that  he  was 
gratified  by  the  compliment.  To  me  the 
sight  was  painful,  for  I  saw  that  this  youth- 
ful tippler  was  on  dangerous  ground. 

"  Who  is  that  young  man  in  the  bar  ?"  I 
asked,  a  few  minutes  afterward,  on  being 
rejoined  by  the  landlord. 

Simon  Slade  stepped  to  the  door  and 
looked  into  the  bar  for  a  moment.  Two  or 
three  men  were  there  by  this  time;  but  he 
was  at  no  loss  in  answering  my  question. 

"  Oh,  that's  a  son  of  Judge  Hammond, 
who  lives  in  the  large  brick  house  just  as 
you  enter  the  village.  Willy  Hammond,  as 
everybody  familiarly  calls  him,  is  about  the 
finest  young  man  in  our  neighborhood. 
There  is  nothing  proud  or  put-on  about  him 
— nothing —  even  if  his  father  is  a  judge,  and 
rich  into  the  bargain.  Every  one,  gentle  or 
simple,  likes  Willy  Hammond.  And  then 
he  is  such  good  company.  Always  so  cheer- 
ful, and  always  with  a  pleasant  story  on  his 
tongue.  And  he's  so  high-spirited  withal, 
and  so  honorable.  Willy  Hammond  would 


12  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

lose  his  right  hand  rather  than  be  guilty  of 
a  mean  action." 

"  Landlord !"  The  voice  came  loud  from 
the  road  in  front  of  the  house,  and  Simon 
Slade  again  left  me  to  answer  the  demands 
of  some  new-comer.  I  went  into  the  bar- 
room in  order  to  take  a  closer  observation 
of  Willy  Hammond,  in  whom  an  interest, 
not  unmingled  with  concern,  had  already 
been  awakened  in  my  mind.  I  found  him 
engaged  in  a  pleasant  conversation  with  a 
plain-looking  farmer,  whose  homely,  terse, 
common  sense  was  quite  as  conspicuous  as 
his  fine  play  of  words  and  lively  fancy. 
The  farmer  was  a  substantial  conservative, 
and  young  Hammond  a  warm  admirer  of 
new  ideas  and  the  quicker  adaptation  of 
means  to  ends.  I  soon  saw  that  his  mental 
powers  were  developed  beyond  his  years, 
while  his  personal  qualities  were  strongly 
attractive.  I  understood  better,  after  being 
a  silent  listener  and  observer  for  ten  minutes, 
why  the  landlord  had  spoken  of  him  so 
warmly. 

"  Take  a  brandy-toddy,  Mr.  H ?"  said 

Hammond,  after  the  discussion  closed,  good- 
humoredly.  "  Frank,  our  junior  bar-keeper 
here,  beats  his  father  in  that  line." 

"  I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  returned  the  farmer, 
and  the  two  passed  up  to  the  bar. 

"Now,  Frank,  my  boy,  don't  belie  my 
praises,"  said  the  young  man;  "do  your 
nandsomest." 


NIGHT  THE  FIRST.  13 

"Two  brandy-toddies,  did  you  say?" 
Frank  made  the  inquiry  with  quite  a  pro- 
fessional air. 

"  Just  what  I  did  say ;  and  let  them  be 
equal  to  Jove's  nectar." 

Pleased  at  this  familiarity,  the  boy  went 
briskly  to  his  work  of  mixing  the  tempting 
compound,  while  Hammond  looked  on  with 
an  approving  smile. 

"  There,"  said  the  latter,  as  Frank  passed 
the  glasses  across  the  counter,  "  if  you  don't 
call  that  first-rate,  you're  no  judge."  And 
he  handed  one  of  them  to  the  farmer,  who 
tasted  the  agreeable  draught  and  praised  its 
flavor.  As  before,  I  noticed  that  Hammond 
drank  eagerly,  like  one  athirst — emptying 
his  glass  without  once  taking  it  from  his 
lips. 

Soon  after,  the  bar-room  was  empty  ;  and 
then  I  walked  around  the  premises  in  com- 
pany with  the  landlord,  and  listened  to  his 
praise  of  everything  and  his  plans  and  pur- 
poses for  the  future.  The  house,  yard,  gar- 
den and  out-buildings  were  in  the  most  per- 
fect order,  presenting,  in  the  whole,  a  model 
of  a  village  tavern. 

"  Whatever  I  do,  sir,"  said  the  talkative 
Simon  Slade,  u  I  like  to  do  well.  I  wasn't 
just  raised  to  tavern-keeping,  you  must 
know ;  but  I'm  one  who  can  turn  his  hand 
to  almost  anything." 

"  What  was  your  business  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  I'm  a  miller,  sir,  by  trade,"  he  answered 


14  TEN  SIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

— "  and  a  better  miller,  though  I  say  it  my- 
self, is  not  to  be  found  in  Bolton  County, 
I've  followed  milling  these  twenty  years,  and 
made  some  little  money.  But  I  got  tired  of 
hard  work,  and  determined  to  lead  an  easier 
life.  So  I  sold  my  mill  and  built  this  house 
with  the  money.  I  always  thought  I'd  like 
tavern-keeping.  It's  an  easy  life,  and,  if 
rightly  seen  after,  one  in  which  a  man  is 
sure  to  make  money."  •>  .'' 

"  You  were  still  doing  a  fair  business  with 
your  mill?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Whatever  I  do,  I  do  right. 
Last  year  I  put  by  a  thousand  dollars  above 
all  expenses,  which  is  not  bad,  I  can  assure 
you,  for  a  mere  grist-mill.  If  the  present 
owner  comes  out  even  he'll  do  well!" 

"How  is  that?" 

"  Oh,  he's  no  miller.  Give  him  the  best 
wheat  that  is  grown,  and  he'll  ruin  it  in 
grinding.  He  takes  the  life  out  of  every 
grain.  I  don't  believe  he'll  keep  half  the 
custom  that  I  transferred  with  the  mill." 

"A  thousand  dollars,  clear  profit,  in  so 
useful  a  business  ought  to  have  satisfied 
you,"  said  I. 

"There  you  and  I  differ,"  answered  the 
landlord.  "  Every  man  desires  to  make  as 
much  money  as  possible,  and  with  the  least 
labor.  I  hope  to  make  two  or  three  thou- 
sand dollars  a  year,  over  and  above  all  ex- 
penses, at  tavern-keeping.  My  bar  alone 
ought  to  yield  me  that  sum.  A  man  with 


NIGHT  THE  FIRST.  15 

a  wife  and  children  very  naturally  tries  to 
do  as  well  by  them  as  possible." 

"  Very  true  ;  but,"  I  ventured  to  suggest, 
"  will  this  be  doing  as  well  by  them  as  if 
you  had  kept  on  at  the  mill?" 

"Two  or  three  thousand  dollars  a  year 
against  one  thousand  !  Where  are  your  fig- 
ures, man  ?" 

"  There  may  be  something  beyond  the 
money  to  take  into  the  account, "said  I. 

"What?"  inquired  Slade,  with  a  kind  of 
half  credulity. 

"  Consider  the  different  influences  of  the 
two  callings  in  life — that  of  a  miller  and  a 
tavern-keeper." 

"Well!  say  on." 

"  Will  your  children  be  as  safe  from  temp- 
tation here  as  in  their  former  home?" 

"  Just  as  safe,''  was  the  unhesitating  an- 
swer. "Why  not?" 

I  was  about  to  speak  of  the  alluring  glass 
in  the  case  of  Frank,  but  remembering  that 
I  had  already  expressed  a  fear  in  that  direc- 
tion, felt  that  to  do  so  again  would  be  use- 
less, and  so  kept  silent. 

"A  tavern-keeper,"  said  Slade,  "is  just  as 


Slade,  and  treat  me  in  every  way  more  as 
if  I  were  an  equal  than  ever  they  did  be- 
fore." 

"  The  change,"  said  I,  "  may  be  due  to  the 


16  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

fact  of  your  giving  evidence  of  possessing 
some  means.  Men  are  very  apt  to  be  cour- 
teous to  those  who  have  property.  The 
building  of  the  tavern  has,  without  doubt, 
contributed  to  the  new  estimation  in  which 
you  are  held." 

"  That  isn't  all,"  replied  the  landlord.  "  It 
is  because  I  am  keeping  a  good  tavern,  and 
thus  materially  advancing  the  interests  of 
Cedarville,  that  some  of  our  best  people  look 
at  me  with  different  eyes." 

"Advancing  the  interests  of  Cedarville !  In 
what  way  ?"  I  did  not  apprehend  his  mean- 
ing. 

"A  good  tavern  always  draws  people  to  a 
place,  while  a  miserable  old  tumbledown  of 
an  affair,  badly  kept,  such  as  we  have  had 
for  years,  as  surely  repels  them.  You  can 
generally  tell  something  about  the  condition 
of  a  town  by  looking  at  its  taverns.  If  they 
are  well  kept,  and  doing  a  good  business, 
you  will  hardly  be  wrong  in  the  conclusion 
that  the  place  is  thriving.  Why,  already, 
since  I  built  and  opened  the  'Sickle  and 
Sheaf,'  property  has  advanced  over  twenty 
per  cent,  along  the  whole  street,  and  not  less 
than  five  new  houses  have  been  commenced." 

"  Other  causes,  besides  the  simple  opening 
of  a  new  tavern,  may  have  contributed  to 
this  result,"  said  I. 

''  None  of  which  I  am  aware.  I  was  talk- 
ing with  Judge  Hammond  only  yesterday — 
he  owns  a  great  deal  of  ground  on  the  street 


NIGHT  THE  FIRST.  17 

— and  he  did  not  hesitate  to  say  that  the 
building  and  opening  of  a  good  tavern  here 
had  increased  the  value  of  his  property  at 
least  five  thousand  dollars.  He  said,  more- 
over, that  he  thought  the  people  of  Cedar- 
ville  ought  to  present  me  with  a  silver 
pitcher ;  and  that,  for  one,  he  would  contrib- 
ute ten  dollars  for  the  purpose." 

The  ringing  of  the  supper-bell  here  inter- 
rupted further  conversation;  and  with  the 
best  of  appetites,  I  took  my  way  to  the  room, 
where  a  plentiful  meal  was  spread.  As  I 
entered,  I  met  the  wife  of  Simon  Slade,  just 
passing  out,  after  seeing  that  everything  was 
in  order.  I  had  not  observed  her  before, 
and  now  could  not  help  remarking  that  she 
had  a  flushed,  excited  countenance,  as  if  she 
had  been  over  a  hot  fire,  and  was  both  wor- 
ried and  fatigued.  And  there  was,  moreover, 
a  peculiar  expression  of  the  mouth,  never  ob- 
served in  one  whose  mind  is  entirely  at  ease 
— an  expression  that  once  seen  is  never  for- 
gotten. The  face  stamped  itself,  instantly 
on  my  memory ;  and  I  can  even  now  recall  it 
with  almost  the  original  distinctness.  How 
strongly  it  contrasted  with  that  of  her  smil- 
ing, self-satisfied  husband,  who  took  his 
place  at  the  head  of  his  table  with  an  air  of 
conscious  importance.  I  was  too  hungry  to 
talk  much,  and  so  found  greater  enjoyment 
in  eating  than  in  conversation.  The  land- 
lord had  a  more  chatty  guest  by  his  side,  and 
I  left  them  to  entertain  each  other,  while  I 


18  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

did  ample  justice  to  the  excellent  food  with 
which  the  table  was  liberally  provided. 

After  supper  I  went  to  the  sitting-room, 
and  remained  there  until  the  lamps  were 
lighted.  A  newspaper  occupied  my  time  for 
perhaps  half  an  hour;  then  the  buzz  of 
voices  from  the  adjoining  bar-room,  which 
had  been  increasing  for  some  time,  attracted 
my  attention,  and  I  went  in  there  to  see  and 
hear  what  was  passing.  The  first  person 
upon  whom  my  eyes  rested  was  young  Ham- 
mond, who  sat  talking  with  a  man  older  than 
himself  by  several  years.  At  a  glance,  I  saw 
that  this  man  could  only  associate  himself 
with  Willy  Hammond  as  a  tempter.  Un- 
scrupulous selfishness  was  written  all  over 
his  sinister  countenance;  and  I  wondered 
that  it  did  not  strike  every  one,  as  it  did  me, 
with  instant  repulsion.  There  could  not  be, 
I  felt  certain,  any  common  ground  of  asso- 
ciation, for  two  such  persons,  but  the  dead 
level  of  a  village  bar-room.  I  afterward 
learned,  during  the  evening,  that  this  man's 
name  was  Harvey  Green,  and  that  he  was  an 
occasional  visitor  at  Cedarville,  remaining  a 
few  days,  or  a  few  weeks  at  a  time,  as  ap- 
peared to  suit  his  fancy,  and  having  no  osten- 
sible business  or  special  acquaintance  with 
anybody  in  the  village. 

"  There  is  one  thing  about  him,"  remarked 
Simon  Slade,  in  answering  some  question  that 
I  put  in  reference  to  the  man,  "  that  I  don't 
object  to ;  he  has  plenty  of  money,  and  is 


NIGHT  THE  FIRST.  19 

not  at  all  niggardly  in  spending  it.  He  used 
to  come  here,  so  he  told  me,  about  once  in 
five  or  six  months ;  but  his  stay  at  the  mis- 
erably kept  tavern,  the  only  one  then  in 
Cedarville,  was  so  uncomfortable,  that  he 
had  pretty  well  made  up  his  mind  never  to 
visit  us  again.  Now,  however,  he  has  en- 
gaged one  of  my  best  rooms,  for  which  he 
pays  me  by  the  year,  and  I  am  to  charge 
him  full  board  for  the  time  he  occupies  it. 
He  says  there  is  something  about  Cedarville 
that  always  attracts  him ;  and  that  his  health 
is  better  while  here  than  it  is  anywhere,  ex- 
cept South  during  the  winter  season.  He'll 
not  leave  less  than  two  or  three  hundred 
dollars  a  year  in  our  village — there  is  one 
item,  for  you,  of  advantage  to  a  place  in 
having  a  good  tavern." 

"  What  is  his  business  ?"  I  asked.  "  Is  he 
engaged  in  any  trading  operations  ?" 

The  landlord  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
looked  slightly  mysterious,  as  he  answered — 

"  I  never  inquire  about  the  business  of  a 
guest.  My  calling  is  to  entertain  strangers. 
If  they  are  pleased  with  my  house,  and  pay 
my  bills  on  presentation,  I  have  no  right  to 
seek  further.  As  a  miller,  I  never  asked  a 
customer  whether  he  raised,  bought,  or  stole 
his  wheat.  It  was  my  business  to  grind  it, 
and  I  took  care  to  do  it  well.  Beyond  that, 
it  was  all  his  own  affair.  And  so  it  will  be 
in  my  new  calling.  I  shall  mind  my  own 
business  and  keep  my  own  place." 


20  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

Besides  young  Hammond  and  this  Harvey 
Green,  there  were,  in  the  bar-room,  when  I 
entered,  four  others  besides  the  landlord. 
Among  these  was  a  Judge  Lyman — so  he 
was  addressed — a  man  between  forty  and 
fifty  years  of  age,  who  had  a  few  weeks  be- 
fore received  the  Democratic  nomination  for 
member  of  Congress.  He  was  very  talkative 
and  very  affable,  and  soon  formed  a  kind 
of  centre  of  attraction  to  the  bar-room  circle. 
Among  other  topics  of  conversation  that 
came  up  was  the  new  tavern,  introduced  by 
the  landlord,  in  whose  mind  it  was,  very 
naturally,  the  uppermost  thought. 

"  The  only  wonder  to  me  is,"  said  Judge 
Lyman,  "  that  nobody  had  wit  enough  to 
see  the  advantage  of  a  good  tavern  in  Cedar- 
ville  ten  years  ago,  or  enterprise  enough  to 
start  one.  I  give  our  friend  Slade  the  credit 
of  being  a  shrewd,  far-seeing  man;  and, 
mark  my  word  for  it,  in  ten  years  from 
to-day  he  will  be  the  richest  man  in  the 
county." 

"  Nonsense  —  Ho !  ho ! "  Simon  Slade 
laughed  outright.  "  The  richest  man !  You 
forget  Judge  Hammond." 

"No,  not  even  Judge  Hammond,  with  all 
deference  for  our  clever  friend  Willy  " — and 
Judge  Lyman  smiled  pleasantly  on  the 
young  man. 

"  If  he  gets  richer,  somebody  will  be 
poorer!"  The  individual  who  uttered  these 
words  had  not  spoken  before  ;  and  I  turned 


NIGHT  THE  FIRST.  21 

to  look  at  him  more  closely.  A  glance 
showed  him  to  be  one  of  a  class  seen  in  all 
bar-rooms  ;  a  poor,  broken-down  inebriate, 
with  the  inward  power  of  resistance  gone — 
conscious  of  having  no  man's  respect,  and 
giving  respect  to  none.  There  was  a  shrewd 
twinkle  in  his  eyes,  as  he  fixed  them  on 
Slade,  that  gave  added  force  to  the  peculiar 
tone  in  which  his  brief  but  telling  sentence 
was  uttered.  I  noticed  a  slight  contraction 
on  the  landlord's  ample  forehead,  the  first 
evidence  I  had  yet  seen  of  ruffled  feelings. 
The  remark,  thrown  in  so  untimely  (or, 
timely,  some  will  say),  and  with  a  kind  of 
prophetic  malice,  produced  a  temporary 
pause  in  the  conversation.  No  one  answered 
or  questioned  the  intruder,  who,  I  could  per- 
ceive, silently  enjoyed  the  effect  of  his  words. 
But  soon  the  obstructed  current  ran  on 
again. 

"  If  our  excellent  friend,  Mr.  Slade,"  said 
Harvey  Green,  "  is  not  the  richest  man  in 
Cedarville  at  the  end  of  ten  years,  he  will  at 
least  enjoy  the  satisfaction  of  having  made 
his  town  richer." 

"  A  true  word  that,"  replied  Judge  Lyman 
— "as  true  a  word  as  ever  was  spoken. 
What  a  dead-and-alive  place  this  has  been 
until  within  the  last  few  months.  All  vig- 
orous growth  had  stopped,  and  we  were  act- 
ually going  to  seed." 

"And  the  graveyard  too  " — muttered  the 
individual  who  had  before  disturbed  the 


22  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

self- satisfied  harmony  of  the  company,  re- 
marking upon  the  closing  sentence  of  Har- 
vey Green.  "Come,  landlord,"  he  added, 
as  he  strode  across  to  the  bar,  speaking  in  a 
changed,  reckless  sort  of  a  way,  u  fix  me  up 
a  good  hot  whisky-punch,  and  do  it  right; 
and  there's  another  sixpence  toward  the  for- 
tune you  are  bound  to  make.  It's  the  last 
one  left — not  a  copper  more  in  my  pock- 
ets " — and  he  turned  them  inside-out,  with 
a  half-solemn,  half-ludicrous  air.  "  I  send 
it  to  keep  company  in  your  till  with  four 
others  that  have  found  their  way  into  that 
snug  place  since  morning,  and  whicn  will  be 
lonesome  without  their  little  friend." 

I  looked  at  Simon  Slade  ;  his  eyes  rested 
on  mine  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  sunk 
beneath  my  earnest  gaze.  I  saw  that  his 
countenance  flushed,  and  that  his  motions 
were  slightly  confused.  The  incident,  it  was 

Slain,  did  not  awaken  agreeable  thoughts. 
nee  I  saw  his  hand  move  toward  the  six- 
pence, that  lay  upon  the  counter;  but, 
whether  to  push  it  back,  or  draw  it  toward 
the  till,  I  could  not  determine.  The  whisky- 
punch  was  in  due  time  ready,  and  with  it 
the  man  retired  to  a  table  across  the  room, 
and  sat  down  to  enjoy  the  tempting  beverage. 
As  he  did  so,  the  landlord  quietly  swept  the 
poor  unfortunate's  last  sixpence  into  his 
drawer.  The  influence  of  this  strong  pota- 
tion was  to  render  the  man  a  little  more 
talkative.  To  the  free  conversation  passing 


NIGHT  THE  FIRST.  28 

around  him  he  lent  an  attentive  ear,  drop- 
ping in  a  word,  now  and  then,  that  always 
told  upon  the  company  like  a  well-directed 
blow.  At  last  Slade  lost  all  patience  with 
him,  and  said,  a  little  fretfully, — 

"  Look  here,  Joe  Morgan,  if  you  will  be 
ill-natured,  pray  go  somewhere  else,  and  not 
interrupt  good  feeling  among  gentlemen." 

"  Got  my  last  sixpence,"  retorted  Joe,  turn- 
ing his  pockets  inside-out  again.  "  No  more 
use  for  me  here  to-night.  That's  the  way 
of  the  world.  How  apt  a  scholar  is  our  good 
friend  Dustycoat,  in  this  new  school !  Well, 
he  was  a  good  miller — no  one  ever  disputed 
that— and  it's  plain  to  see  that  he  is  going  to 
make  a  good  landlord.  I  thought  his  heart 
was  a  little  too  soft;  but  the  indurating  pro- 
cess has  begun;  and,  in  less  than  ten  years, 
if  it  isn't  as  hard  as  one  of  his  old  millstones, 
Joe  Morgan  is  no  prophet.  Oh,  you  needn't 
knit  your  brows  so,  friend  Simon,  we're  old 
friends  ;  and  friends  are  privileged  to  speak 
plain." 

"  I  wish  you'd  go  home.  You're  not  your- 
self to-night,"  said  the  landlord,  a  little  coax- 
ingly — for  he  saw  that  nothing  was  to  be 
gained  by  quarrelling  with  Morgan.  "  Maybe 
my  heart  is  growing  harder,"  he  added,  with 
affected  good-humor  ;  "  and  it  is  time,  per- 
haps. One  of  my  weaknesses,  I  have  heard 
even  you  say,  was  being  too  woman- 
hearted." 

"  No  danger  of  that  now,"  retorted  Joe 


24  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

Morgan.  "  I've  known  a  good  many  land- 
lords in  my  time,  but  can't  remember  one 
that  was  troubled  with  the  disease  that  once 
afflicted  you." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  outer  door  was 
pushed  open  with  a  slow,  hesitating  mo- 
tion ;  then  a  little  pale  face  peered  in,  and  a 
pair  of  soft  blue  eyes  went  searching  about 
the  room.  Conversation  was  instantly 
hushed,  and  every  face,  excited  with  inter- 
est, turned  toward  the  child,  who  had  now 
stepped  through  the  door.  She  was  not 
over  ten  years  of  age;  but  it  moved  the 
heart  to  look  upon  the  saddened  expression 
of  her  young  countenance,  and  the  forced 
bravery  therein,  that  scarcely  overcame  the 
native  timidity  so  touchingly  visible. 

"  Father !"  I  have  never  heard  this  word 
spoken  in  a  voice  that  sent  such  a  thrill 
along  every  nerve.  It  was  full  of  sorrowful 
love — full  of  a  tender  concern  that  had  its 
origin  too  deep  for  the  heart  of  a  child. 
As  she  spoke,  the  little  one  sprang  across 
the  room,  and  laying  her  hands  upon  the 
arm  of  Joe  Morgan,  lifted  her  eyes,  that 
were  ready  to  gush  over  with  tears,  to  his 
face. 

"  Come,  father  !  won't  you  come  home  ?" 
I  hear  that  low,  pleading  voice  even  now, 
and  my  heart  gives  a  quicker  throb.  Poor 
child !  Darkly  shadowed  was  the  sky  that 
bent  gloomily  over  thy  young  life. 

Morgan  arose,  and  'suffered  the  child  to 


NIGHT  THE  FIRST.  25 

lead  him  from  the  room.  He  seemed  pas- 
sive in  her  hands.  I  noticed  that  he  thrust 
his  fingers  nervously  into  his  pocket,  and 
that  a  troubled  look  went  over  his  face  as 
they  were  withdrawn.  His  last  sixpence 
was  in  the  till  of  Simon  Slade ! 

The  first  man  who  spoke  was  Harvey 
Green,  and  this  not  for  a  minute  after  the 
father  and  his  child  had  vanished  through 
the  door. 

"If  I  was  in  your  place,  landlord" — 
his  voice  was  cold  and  unfeeling — "  I'd 
pitch  that  fellow  out  of  the  bar-room  the 
next  time  he  stepped  through  the  door. 
He's  no  business  here,  in  the  first  place; 
and,  in  the  second,  he  doesn't  know  how  to 
behave  himself.  There's  no  telling  how 
much  a  vagabond  like  him  injures  a  respect- 
able house." 

"I  wish  he  would  stay  away,"  said 
Simon,  with  a  perplexed  air. 

"I'd  make  him  stay  away,"  answered 
Green. 

''  That  may  be  easier  said  than  done,"  re- 
marked Judge  Lyman.  "Our  friend  keeps 
a  public-house,  and  can't  just  say  who  shall 
or  shall  not  come  into  it." 

"  But  such  a  fellow  has  no  business  here. 
He's  a  good-for-nothing  sot.  If  I  kept  a 
tavern,  I'd  refuse  to  sell  him  liquor." 

"That  you  might  do,"  said  Judge  Lyman 
— "  and  I  presume  your  hint  will  not  be  lost 
on  our  friend  Slade." 


16  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

"  He  will  have  liquor,  so  long  as  he  can 
get  a  cent  to  buy  it  with,"  remarked  one  of 
the  company ;  "  and  I  don't  see  why  our 
landlord  here,  who  has  gone  to  so  much  ex- 
pense to  fit  up  a  tavern,  shouldn't  have  the 
sale  of  it  as  well  as  anybody  else.  Joe  talks 
a  little  freely  sometimes ;  but  no  one  can 
say  that  he  is  quarrelsome.  You've  got  to 
take  him  as  he  is,  that's  all." 

"  I'm  one,"  retorted  Harvey  Green,  with 
a  slightly  ruffled  manner,  "  who  is  never 
disposed  to  take  people  as  they  are  when 
they  choose  to  render  themselves  disagree- 
able. If  I  was  Mr.  Slade,  as  I  remarked  in 
the  beginning,  I'd  pitch  that  fellow  into  the 
road  the  next  time  he  put  his  foot  over  my 
door-step." 

"  Not  if  I  were  present,"  remarked  the 
other,  coolly. 

Green  was  on  his  feet  in  a  moment ;  and 
I  saw,  from  the  flash  of  his  eyes,  that  he  was 
a  man  of  evil  passions.  Moving  a  pace  or 
two  in  the  direction  of  the  other,  he  said, 
sharply — 

"  What  is  that,  sir?" 

The  individual  against  whom  his  anger 
was  so  suddenly  aroused  was  dressed 
plainly,  and  had  the  appearance  of  a  work- 
ing-man. He  was  stout  and  muscular. 

"  I  presume  you  heard  my  words.  They 
were  spoken  distinctly,"  he  replied,  not 
moving  from  where  he  sat,  nor  seeming  to 
be  in  the  least  disturbed.  But  there  was 


NIGHT  THE  FIRST.  27 

cool  defiance  in  the  tones  of  his  voice  and 
in  the  steady  look  of  his  eyes, 

"  You're  an  impertinent  fellow,  and  I'm 
half  tempted  to  chastise  you." 

Green  had  scarcely  finished  the  sentence, 
ere  he  was  lying  at  full  length  upon  the 
floor!  The  other  had  sprung  upon  him 
like  a  tiger,  and  with  one  blow  from  his 
heavy  fist,  struck  him  down  as  if  he  had 
.been  a  child.  For  a  moment  or  two,  Green 
lay  stunned  and  bewildered — then,  starting 
up  with  a  savage  cry,  that  sounded  more 
bestial  than  human,  he  drew  a  long  knife 
from  a  concealed  sheath,  and  attempted  to 
stab  his  assailant ;  but  the  murderous  pur- 
pose was  not  accomplished,  for  the  other 
man,  who  had  superior  strength  and  cool- 
ness, saw  the  design,  and  with  a  well-di- 
rected blow  almost  broke  the  arm  of  Green, 
causing  the  knife  to  leave  his  hand  and 
glide  far  across  the  room. 

"I'm  half  tempted  to  wring  your  neck 
off,"  exclaimed  the  man,  whose  name  was 
Lyon,  now  much  excited ;  and  seizing  Green 
by  the  throat,  he  strangled  him  until  his 
face  grew  black.  "  Draw  a  knife  on  me,  ha ! 
You  murdering  villain !"  And  he  gripped 
him  tighter. 

Judge  Lyman  and  the  landlord  now  in- 
terfered, and  rescued  Green  from  the  hands 
of  his  fully  aroused  antagonist.  For  some 
time  they  stood  growling  at  each  other,  like 
two  parted  dogs,  struggling  to  get  free,  in 


28  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-ROOM. 

order  to  renew  the  conflict,  but  gradually 
cooled  off.  In  a  little  while  Judge  Lyman 
drew  Green  aside,  and  the  two  men  left  the 
bar-room  together.  In  the  door,  as  they 
were  retiring,  the  former  slightly  nodded  to 
Willy  Hammond,  who  soon  followed  them, 
going  into  the  sitting-room,  and  from  thence, 
as  I  could  perceive,  upstairs,  to  an  apartment 
above. 

"  Not  after  much  good,"  I  heard  Lyon 
mutter  to  himself.  "If  Judge  Hammond 
don't  look  a  little  closer  after  that  boy  of  his 
he'll  be  sorry  for  it,  that's  all." 

"  Who  is  this  Green?"  I  asked  of  Lyon, 
finding  myself  alone  with  him  in  the  bar- 
room soon  after. 

"A  blackleg,  I  take  it,"  was  his  unhesi- 
tating answer. 

"  Does  Judge  Lyman  suspect  his  real 
character  ?' ' 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  that,  but  I 
wouldn't  be  afraid  to  bet  ten  dollars  that  if 
you  could  look  in  upon  them  now  you 
would  find  cards  in  their  hands." 

"  What  a  school,  and  what  teachers  for  the 
youth  who  just  went  with  them !"  I  could 
not  help  remarking. 

"Willy  Hammond?" 

"  Yes." 

"  You  may  well  say  that.  What  can  his 
father  be  thinking  about  to  leave  him  ex- 
posed to  such  influences!" 

"  He's  one  of  the  few  who  are  in  raptures 


NIGHT  THE  FIRST.  29 

about  this  tavern,  because  its  erection  has 
slightly  increased  the  value  of  his  property 
about  here ;  but  if  he  is  not  the  loser  of  fifty 
per  cent,  for  every  one  gained  before  ten 
years  go  by,  I'm  very  much  in  error." 

"How  so?" 

"  It  will  prove,  I  fear,  the  open  door  to 
ruin  for  his  son." 

"  That's  bad,"  said  I. 

"  Bad !  It  is  awful  to  think  of.  There  is 
not  a  finer  young  man  in  the  country ;  nor 
one  with  better  mind  and  heart  than  Willy 
Hammond.  So  much  the  sadder  will  be  his 
destruction.  Ah,  sir !  this  tavern-keeping  is 
a  curse  to  any  place." 

"  But  I  thought  just  now  that  you  spoke 
in  favor  of  letting  even  the  poor  drunkard's 
money  go  into  our  landlord's  till  in  order  to 
encourage  his  commendable  enterprise  in 
opening  so  good  a  tavern." 

"  We  all  speak  with  covert  irony  some- 
times," answered  the  man,  "  as  I  did  then. 
Poor  Joe  Morgan!  He  is  an  old  and  early 
friend  of  Simon  Slade.  They  were  boys  to- 
gether, and  worked  as  millers  under  the 
same  roof  for  many  years.  In  fact,  Joe's 
father  owned  the  mill,  and  the  two  learned 
their  trade  with  him.  When  old  Morgan 
died,  the  mill  came  into  Joe's  hands.  It 
was  in  rather  a  worn-out  condition,  and  Joe 
went  in  debt  for  some  pretty  thorough  repairs 
and  additions  of  machinery.  By  and  by, 
Simon  Slade,  who  was  hired  by  Joe  to  run 


30  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

the  mill,  received  a  couple  of  thousand  dol« 
lars  at  the  death  of  an  aunt.  This  sum  en- 
abled him  to  buy  a  share  in  the  mill,  which 
Morgan  was  very  glad  to  sell  in  order  to  get 
clear  of  his  debt.  Time  passed  on,  and  Joe 
left  his  milling  interest  almost  entirely  in 
the  care  of  Slade,  who,  it  must  be  said  in  his 
favor,  did  not  neglect  the  business.  But  it 
somehow  happened — I  will  not  say  unfairly 
— that  at  the  end  of  ten  years  Joe  Morgan 
no  longer  owned  a  share  in  the  mill.  The 
whole  property  was  in  the  hands  of  Slade. 
People  did  not  much  wonder  at  this ;  for 
while  Slade  was  always  to  be  found  at  the 
mill,  industrious,  active,  and  attentive  to 
customers,  Morgan  was  rarely  seen  on  the 
premises.  You  would  oftener  find  him  in 
the  woods,  with  a  gun  over  his  shoulder,  or 
sitting  by  a  trout-brook,  or  lounging  at  the 
tavern.  And  yet  everybody  liked  Joe,  for 
he  was  companionable,  quick-witted,  and 
very  kind-hearted.  He  would  say  sharp 
things,  sometimes,  when  people  manifested 
little  meannesses;  but  there  was  so  much 
honey  in  his  gall,  that  bitterness  rarely  pre- 
dominated. 

"  A  year  or  two  before  his  ownership  in 
the  mill  ceased,  Morgan  married  one  of  the 
sweetest  girls  in  our  town — Fannie  Ellis,  that 
was  her  name,  and  she  could  have. had  her 
pick  of  the  young  men.  Everybody  affected 
to  wonder  at  her  choice  ;  and  yet  nobody 
>eally  did  wonder,  for  Joe  was  an  attractive 


NIGHT  THE  Fizo*.  31 

young  man,  take  him  as  you  would,  and 
just  the  one  to  win  the  heart  of  a  girl  like 
Fanny.  What  if  he  had  been  seen,  now  and 
then,  a  litle  the  worse  for  drink !  What  if 
he  showed  more  fondness  for  pleasure  than 
for  business !  Fanny  did  not  look  into  the 
future  with  doubt  or  fear.  She  believed 
that  her  love  was  strong  enough  to  win  him 
from  all  evil  allurements ;  and,  as  for  this 
world's  goods,  they  were  matters  in  which 
her  maiden  fancies  rarely  busied  them- 
selves. 

"Well.  Dark  days  came  for  her,  poor 
soul !  And  yet,  in  all  the  darkness  of  her 
earthly  lot,  she  has  never,  it  is  said,  been 
anything  but  a  loving,  forbearing,  self-deny- 
ing wife  to  Morgan.  And  he — fallen  as  he 
is,  and  powerless  in  the  grasp  of  the  monster 
intemperance — has  never,  I  am  sure,  hurt 
her  with  a  cruel  word.  Had  he  added 
these,  her  heart  would,  long  ere  this,  have 
broken.  Poor  Joe  Morgan!  Poor  Fanny  I 
Oh,  what  a  curse  is  this  drink !" 

The  man,  warming  with  his  theme,  had 
spoken  with  an  eloquence  I  had  not  expected 
from  his  lips.  Slightly  overmastered  by  his 
feelings,  he  paused  for  a  moment  or  two, 
and  then  added: 

"  It  was  unfortunate  for  Joe,  at  least,  that 
Slade  sold  his  mill,  and  became  a  tavern- 
keeper  ;  for  Joe  had  a  sure  berth,  and  wages 
regularly  paid.  He  didn't  always  stick  to 
his  work,  but  would  go  off  on  a  spree  every 


32  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

now  and  then  ;  but  Slade  bore  with  all  this, 
and  worked  harder  himself  to  make  up  for 
his  hand's  shortcoming.  And  no  matter 
what  deficiency  the  little  store-room  at  home 
might  show,  Fanny  Morgan  never  found  her 
meal  barrel  empty  without  knowing  where 
to  get  it  replenished. 

"  But,  after  Slade  sold  the  mill,  a  sad 
change  took  place.  The  new  owner  was  lit- 
tle disposed  to  pay  wages  to  a  hand  who 
would  not  give  him  all  his  time  during  work- 
ing hours ;  and  in  less  than  two  weeks  from 
the  day  he  took  possession,  Morgan  was  dis- 
charged. Since  then;  he  has  been  working 
about  at  one  odd  job  and  another,  earning 
scarcely  enough  to  buy  the  liquor  it  requires 
to  feed  the  inordinate  thirst  that  is  consum- 
ing him.  I  am  not  disposed  to  blame  Simon 
Slade  for  the  wrong-doing  of  Morgan  ;  but 
here  is  a  simple  fact  in  the  case — if  he  had 
kept  on  at  the  useful  calling  of  a  miller,  he 
would  have  saved  this  man's  family  from 
want,  suffering,  and  a  lower  deep  of  misery 
than  that  into  which  they  have  already 
fallen.  I  merely  state  it,  and  you  can  draw 
your  own  conclusion.  It  is  one  of  the  many 
facts,  on  the  other  side  of  this  tavern  ques- 
tion, which  it  will  do  no  harm  to  mention. 
I  have  noted  a  good  many  facts  besides,  and 
one  is,  that  before  Slade  opened  the  "  Sickle 
and  Sheaf,'^  he  did  all  in  his  power  to  save 
his  early  friend  from  the  curse  of  intemper- 
ance; now  he  has  become  his  tempter. 


NIGHT  THE  FIRST.  33 

Heretofore,  it  was  his  hand  that  provided 
the  means  for  his  family  to  live  in  some 
small  degree  of  comfort ;  now  he  takes  the 
.poor  pittance  the  wretched  man  earns,  and 
dropping  it  in  his  till,  forgets  the  wife  and 
children  at  home  who  are  hungry  for  the 
bread  this  money  should  have  purchased. 

"  Joe  Morgan,  fallen  as  he  is,  sir,  is  no 
fool.  His  mind  sees  quickly  yet ;  and  he 
rarely  utters  a  sentiment  that  is  not  full  of 
meaning.  When  he  spoke  of  Sla'de's  heart 
growing  as  hard  in  ten  years  as  one  of  his 
old  millstones,  he  was  not  uttering  words  at 
random,  nor  merely  indulging  in  a  harsh 
sentiment,  little  caring  whether  it  were 
closely  applicable  or  not.  That  the  indu- 
rating process  had  begun,  he,  alas  !  was  too 
sadly  conscious." 

The  landlord  had  been  absent  from  the 
room  for  some  time.  He  left  soon  after 
Judge  Lyman,  Harvey  Green,  and  Willy 
Hammond  withdrew,  and  I  did  not  see  him 
again  during  the  evening.  His  son  Frank 
was  left  to  attend  at  the  bar ;  no  very  hard 
task,  for  not  more  than  half  a  dozen  called 
in  to  drink  from  the  time  Morgan  left  until 
the  bar  was  closed. 

While  Mr.  Lyon  was  giving  me  the  brief 
history  just  recorded,  I  noticed  a  little  inci- 
dent that  caused  a  troubled  feeling  to  per- 
vade my  mind.  After  a  man,  for  whom  the 
landlord's  son  had  prepared  a  fancy  drink, 
had  nearly  emptied  his  glass,  he  sat  it  down 
P. 


34  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

upon  the  counter  and  went  out.  A  table- 
spoon or  two  remained  in  the  glass,  and  I 
noticed  .Frank,  after  smelling  at  it  two  or 
three  times,  put  the  glass  to  his  lips  and  sip 
the  sweetened  liquor.  The  flavor  proved 
agreeable ;  for  after  tasting  it,  he  raised  the 
the  glass  again  and  drained  every  drop. 

"  Frank !"  I  heard  a  low  voice,  in  a  warn- 
ing tone,  pronounce  the  name,  and  glancing 
toward  a  door  partly  opened,  that  led  from 
the  inside  of  the  bar  to  the  yard,  I  saw  the 
face  of  Mrs.  Slade.  It  had  the  same  trou- 
bled expression  I  had  noticed  before,  but 
now  blended  with  more  of  anxiety. 

The  boy  went  out  at  the  call  of  his  mother  • 
and  when  a  new  customer  entered,  I  noticea 
that  Flora,  the  daughter,  came  in  to  wait 
upon  him.  I  noticed,  too,  that  while  she 
poured  out  the  liquor,  there  was  a  height- 
ened color  on  her  face,  in  which  I  fancied 
that  I  saw  a  tinge  of  shame.  It  is  certain 
that  she  was  not  in  the  least  gracious  to  the 
person  on  whom  she  was  waiting,  and  that 
there  was  little  heart  in  her  manner  of  per- 
forming the  task. 

Ten  o'clock  found  me  alone  and  musing 
in  the  bar-room  over  the  occurrences  of  the 
evening.  Of  all  the  incidents,  that  of  the 
entrance  of  Joe  Morgan's  child  kept  the 
most  prominent  place  in  my  thoughts.  The 
picture  of  that  mournful  little  face  was  ever 
before  me ;  and  I  seemed  all  the  while  to 
hear  the  word  "  Father,"  uttered  so  touch- 


NIGHT  THE  FIRST.  35 

ingly,  and  yet  with  such  a  world  of  childish 
tenderness.  And  the  man,  who  would  have 
opposed  the  most  stubborn  resistance  to  his 
fellow-men,  had  they  sought  to  force  him 
from  the  room,  going  passively,  almost 
meekly  out,  led  by  that  little  child— I  could 
not,  for  a  time,  turn  my  thoughts  from  the 
image  thereof!  And  then  thought  bore  me 
to  the  wretched  home,  back  to  which  the 
gentle,  loving  child  had  taken  her  father,, 
and  my  heart  grew  faint  in  me  as  imagina- 
tion busied  itself  with  all  the  misery  there. 

And  Willy  Hammond.  The  little  that  I 
had  heard  and  seen  of  him  greatly  interested 
me  in  his  favor.  Ah  !  upon  what  dangerous 
ground  was  he  treading.  How  many  pit- 
falls awaited  his  feet — how  near  they  were 
to  the  brink  of  a  fearful  precipice,  down 
which  to  fall  was  certain  destruction  !  How 
beautiful  had  been  his  life-promise !  How 
fair  the  opening  day  of  his  existence !  Alas  I 
the  clouds  were  gathering  already,  and  the 
low  rumble  of  the  distant  thunder  presaged 
the  coming  of  a  fearful  tempest.  Was  there- 
none  to  warn  him  of  the  danger?  Alas  I 
all  might  now  come  too  late,  for  so  few  who- 
enter  the  path  in  which  his  steps  were  tread- 
ing will  hearken  to  friendly  counsel,  or  heed 
the  solemn  warning.  Where  was  he  now? 
This  question  recurred  over  and  over  again. 
He  had  left  the  bar-room  with  Judge  Lyman 
and  Green  early  in  the  evening,  and  had  not 
made  his  appearance  since.  Who  and  what 


36  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

was  Green?  And  Judge  Lyman,  was  he  a 
man  of  principle  ?  One  with  whom  it  was 
safe  to  trust  a  youth  like  Willy  Hammond? 

While  I  mused  thus,  the  bar-room  door 
opened,  and  a  man  past  the  prime  of  life, 
with  a  somewhat  florid  face,  which  gave  a 
strong  relief  to  the  gray,  almost  white  hair 
that,  suffered  to  grow  freely,  was  pushed 
back,  and  lay  in  heavy  masses  on  his  coat 
collar,  entered  with  a  hasty  step.  He  was 
almost  venerable  in  appearance ;  yet,  there 
was  in  his  dark,  quick  eyes  the  brightness 
of  unquenched  loves,  the  fires  of  which  were 
kindled  at  the  altars  of  selfishness  and  sen- 
suality. This  I  saw  at  a  glance.  There  was 
a  look  of  concern  on  his  face,  as  he  threw 
his  eyes  around  the  bar-room;  and  he 
seemed  disappointed,  I  thought,  at  finding 
it  empty. 

"  Is  Simon  Slade  here  ?" 

As  I  answered  in  the  negative,  Mrs.  Slade 
entered  through  the  door  that  opened  from 
the  yard,  and  stood  behind  the  counter. 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Slade  !  Good-evening,  madam !" 
he  said. 

"  Good-evening,  Judge  Hammond !" 

"Is  your  husband  at  home?" 

"I  believe  he  is,"  answered  Mrs.  Slade. 
"  I  think  he's  somewhere  about  the  house." 

"  Ask  him  to  step  here,  will  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Slade  went  out.  Nearly  five  minutes 
went  by,  during  which  time  Judge  Ham- 
mond paced  the  floor  of  the  bar-room  ua- 


NldET  THE  FIRST.  37 

easily.  Then  the  landlord  made  his  appear- 
ance. The  free,  open,  manly,  self-satisfied 
expression  of  his  countenance,  which  I  had 
remarked  on  alighting  from  the  stage  in  the 
afternoon,  was  gone.  I  noticed  at  once  the 
change,  for  it  was  striking.  He  did  not  look 
steadily  into  the  face  of  Judge  Hammond, 
who  asked  him,  in  a  low  voice,  if  his  son  had 
been  there  during  the  evening. 

"  He  was  here,"  said  Slade. 

"When?" 

"He  came  in  some  time  after  dark,  and 
stayed,  maybe,  an  hour." 

''And  hasn't  been  here  since  ?" 

"  It's  nearly  two  hours  since  he  left  the 
bar-room,"  replied  the  landlord. 

Judge  Hammond  seemed  perplexed. 
There  was  a  degree  of  evasion  in  Slade' a 
manner  that  he  could  hardly  help  noticing. 
To  me  it  was  all  apparent,  for  I  had  lively 
suspicions  that  made  my  observation  acute. 

Judge  Hammond  crossed  his  arms  behind 
him,  and  took  three  or  four  strides  about  the 
floor. 

"  Was  Judge  Lyman  here  to-night  ?"  he 
then  asked. 

"  He  was,"  answered  Slade. 

"  Did  he  and  Willy  go  out  together?" 

The  question  seemed  an  unexpected  one 
/or  the  landlord.  Slade  appeared  slightly 
confused,  and  did  not  answer  promptly. 

"I— I  rather  think  they  did,"  he  said, 
after  a  brief  hesitation. 


38  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

"  Ah,  well!  Perhaps  he  is  at  Judge  Ly- 
man's.  I  will  call  over  there." 

And  Judge  Hammond  left  the  har-room. 

"  Would  you  like  to  retire,  sir?"  said  the 
landlord,  now  turning  to  me,  with  a  forced 
smile — I  saw  that  it  was  forced. 

"  If  you  please,"  I  answered. 

He  lit  a  candle  and  conducted  me  to  my 
room,  where,  overwearied  with  the  day's 
exertion,  I  soon  fell  asleep,  and  did  not 
awake  until  the  sun  was  shining  brightly 
into  my  windows. 

I  remained  at  the  village  a  portion  of  the 
day,  but  saw  nothing  of  the  parties  in  whom 
the  incidents  of  the  previous  evening  had 
awakened  a  lively  interest.  At  four  o'clock 
I  left  in  the  stage,  and  did  not  visit  Cedar- 
ville  again  for  a  year. 


NIGHT  THE  SECOND. 

The  Changes  of  a  Year. 

A  CORDIAL  grasp  of  the  hand  and  a  few 
words  of  hearty  welcome  greeted  me  as  I 
alighted  from  the  stage  at  the  "Sickle  and 
Sheaf,"  on  my  next  visit  to  Cedarville.  At 
the  first  glance,  I  saw  no  change  in  the  coun- 
tenance, manner,  or  general  bearing  of 
Simon  Slade,  the  landlord.  With  him,  the 
year  seemed  to  have  passed  like  a  pleasant 
summer  day.  His  face  was  round,  and  full, 
and  rosy,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  that 
good-humor  which  flows  from  intense  self- 
satisfaction.  Everything  about  him  seemed 
to  say  — "  All  right  with  myself  and  the- 
world." 

I  had  scarcely  expected  this.  From  what 
I  saw  during  my  last  brief  sojourn  at  the 
"  Sickle  and  Sheaf,' '  the  inference  was  natu- 
ral that  elements  had  been  called  into  ac- 
tivity which  must  produce  changes  adverse 
to  those  pleasant  states  of  mind  that  threw 
an  almost  perpetual  sunshine  over  the  land- 
lord's countenance.  Howm  any  hundreds- 
of  times  had  I  thought  of  Joe  Morgan  and 
Willy  Hammond — of  Frank  and  the  tempta- 
tions to  which  a  bar-room  exposed  him.  The 

(39) 


40  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

heart  of  Slade  must,  indeed,  be  as  hard  as 
one  of  his  old  millstones,  if  he  could  remain 
an  unmoved  witness  of  the  corruption  and 
degradation  of  these. 

"  My  fears  have  outrun  the  actual  pro- 
gress of  things,"  said  I  to  myself,  with  a 
sense  of  relief,  as  I  mused  alone  in  the  still 
neatly  arranged  sitting-room,  after  the  land- 
lord, who  sat  and  chatted  for  a  few  minutes, 
had  left  me.  "  There  is,  I  am  willing  to  be- 
lieve, a  basis  of  good  in  this  man's  charac- 
ter, which  has  led  him  to  remove,  as  far  as 
possible,  the  more  palpable  evils  that  ever 
attach  themselves  to  a  house  of  public  en- 
tertainment. He  had  but  entered  on  the 
business  last  year.  There  was  much  to  be 
learned,  pondered,  and  corrected.  Experi- 
ence, I  doubt  not,  has  led  to  many  impor- 
tant changes  in  the  manner  of  conducting 
the  establishment,  and  especially  in  what 
pertains  to  the  bar." 

As  I  thought  thus,  my  eyes  glanced 
through  the  half-open  door,  and  rested  on 
the  face  of  Simon  Slade.  He  was  standing 
behind  his  bar  —  evidently  alone  in  the 
room— with  his  head  bent  in  a  musing  atti- 
tude. At  first  I  was  in  some  doubt  as  to  the 
identity  of  the  singularly  changed  counte- 
nance. Two  deep  perpendicular  seams  lay 
sharply  denned  on  his  forehead— the  arch 
of  his  eyebrows  was  gone,  and  from  each 
corner  of  his  compressed  lips  lines  were 
seen  reaching  half-way  to  the  chin.  Blend- 


NIGHT  THE  SECOND.  41 

ing  with  a  slightly  troubled  expression,  was 
a  strongly  marked  selfishness,  evidently 
brooding  over  the  consummation  of  its  pur- 
pose. For  some  moments  I  sat  gazing  on 
this  face,  half-doubting  at  times  if  it  were 
really  that  of  Simon  Slade.  Suddenly,  a 
gleam  flashed  over  it — an  ejaculation  was 
uttered,  and  one  clinched  hand  brought 
down,  with  a  sharp  stroke  into  the  open 
palm  of  the  other.  The  landlord's  mind 
had  reached  a  conclusion,  and  was  resolved 
upon  action.  There  were  no  warm  rays  in 
the  gleam  light  that  irradiated  his  counte- 
nance— at  least  none  for  my  heart,  which 
felt  under  them  an  almost  icy  coldness. 

"  Just  the  man  I  was  thinking  about,"  I 
heard  the  landlord  say,  as  some  one  entered 
the  bar,  while  his  whole  manner  underwent 
a  sudden  change. 

"  The  old  saying  is  true,"  was  answered  in 
a  voice,  the  tones  of  which  were  familiar  to 
my  ears. 

"  Thinking  of  the  old  Harry  ?"  said  Slade 

"  Yes." 

"True,  literally,  in  the  present  case,"  I 
heard  the  landlord  remark,  though  in  a 
much  lower  tone;  "for,  if  you  are  not  the 
devil  himself,  you  can't  be  farther  removed 
than  a  second  cousin." 

A  low,  gurgling  laugh  met  this  little  sally. 
There  was  something  in  it  so  unlike  a  hu- 
man laugh  that  it  caused  my  blood  to 
trickle,  for  a  moment,  coldly  along  my  veins. 


42  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

I  heard  nothing  more  except  the  murmur 
of  voices  in  the  bar,  for  a  hand  shut  the 
partly  open  door  that  led  from  the  sitting- 
room. 

Whose  was  that  voice  ?  I  recalled  its 
tones,  and  tried  to  fix  in  my  thought  the 
person  to  whom  it  belonged,  but  was  unable 
to  do  so.  I  was  not  very  long  in  doubt,  for 
on  stepping  out  upon  the  porch  in  front  of 
the  tavern,  the  well-remembered  face  of 
Harvey  Green  presented  itself.  He  stood  in 
the  bar-room  door,  and  was  talking  earnestly 
to  Slade,  whose  back  was  toward  me.  I  saw 
that  he  recognized  me,  although  I  had  not 
passed  a  word  with  him  on  the  occasion  of 
my  former  visit;  and  there  was  a  lighting 
up  his  countenance  as  if  about  to  speak — 
but  I  withdrew  my  eyes  from  his  face  to 
avoid  the  unwelcome  greeting.  When  I 
looked  at  him  again,  I  saw  that  he  was  re- 
garding me  with  a  sinister  glance,  which  was 
instantly  withdrawn.  In  what  broad,  black 
characters  was  the  word  TEMPTER  written  on 
his  face  !  How  was  it  possible  for  any  one 
to  look  thereon,  and  not  read  the  warning 
inscription  1 

Soon  after,  he  withdrew  into  the  bar-room, 
and  the  landlord  came  and  took  a  seat  near 
me  on  the  porch. 

"  How  is  the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf  coming 
on  ?"  I  inquired. 

"First-rate,"  was  the  answer— "  First- 
rate." 


NIGHT  THE  SECOND.  43 

"  As  well  as  you  expected  ?" 

"Better." 

"  Satisfied  with  your  experiment  ?" 

"  Perfectly.  Couldn't  get  me  back  to  the 
rumbling  old  mill  again,  if  you  were  to 
make  me  a  present  of  it." 

"  What  of  the  mill?"  I  asked.  "  How  does 
the  new  owner  come  on?" 

"  About  as  I  thought  it  would  be." 

"  Not  doing  very  well?" 

"  How  could  it  be  expected,  when  he 
didn't  know  enough  of  the  milling  business 
to  grind  a  bushel  of  wheat  right.  He  lost 
half  of  the  custom  I  transferred  to  him  in 
less  than  three  months.  Then  he  broke  his 
main  shaft,  and  it  took  over  three  weeks  to 
get  in  a  new  one.  Half  of  his  remaining 
customers  discovered  by  this  time  that  they 
could  get  far  better  meal  from  their  grain  at 
Harwood's  mill  near  Lynwood,  and  so  did 
not  care  to  trouble  him  any  more.  The  up- 
shot of  the  whole  matter  is,  he  broke  down 
next,  and  had  to  sell  the  mill  at  a  heavy 
loss." 

"Who  has  it  now?" 

"Judge  Hammond  is  the  purchaser." 

"  He  is  going  to  rent  it,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  No ;  I  believe  he  means  to  turn  it  into 
gome  kind  of  a  factory — and,  I  rather  think, 
will  connect  therewith  a  distillery.  This  is 
a  fine  grain-growing  country,  as  you  know. 
If  he  does  set  up  a  distillery,  he'll  make  a 
fine  thing  of  it.  Grain  has  been  too  low  in 


44  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

this  section  for  some  years ;  this  all  the  far- 
mers have  felt,  and  they  are  very  much 
pleased  at  the  idea.  It  will  help  them  won- 
derfully. I  always  thought  my  mill  a  great 
thing  for  the  farmers;  but  what  I  did  for 
them  was  a  mere  song  compared  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  an  extensive  distillery." 

"  Judge  Hammond  is  one  of  your  richest 
men?'' 

"Yes — the  richest  in  the  county.  And 
what  is  more,  he's  a  shrewd,  far-seeing  man, 
and  knows  how  to  multiply  his  riches." 

"  How  is  his  son  Willy  coming  on  ?" 

"Oh!  first-rate." 

The  landlord's  eyes  fell  under  the  search- 
ing look  I  bent  upon  him. 

'"How  old  is  he  now?" 

"  Just  twenty." 

"  A  critical  age,"  I  remarked. 

"  So  people  say  ;  but  I  didn't  find  it  so," 
answered  Slade,  a  little  distantly. 

"The  impulses  within  and  the  tempta- 
tions without  are  the  measure  of  its  dangers. 
At  his  age,  you  were,  no  doubt,  daily  em- 
ployed at  hard  work." 

"  I  was,  and  no  mistake." 

"  Thousands  and  hundreds  of  thousands 
are  indebted  to  useful  work,  occupying 
many  hours  through  each  day,  and  leaving 
them  with  wearied  bodies  at  night,  for  their 
safe  passage  from  yielding  youth  to  firm,  re- 
sisting manhood.  It  might  not  be  with  you 
as  it  is  now,  had  leisure  and  freedom  to  go 


NIGHT  THE  SECOND.  45 

in  and  out  when  you  pleased  been  offered 
at  the  age  of  nineteen." 

"  I  can't  tell  as  to  that,"  said  the  landlord, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  But  I  don't  see 
that  Willy  Hammond  is  in  any  especial 
danger.  He  is  a  young  man  with  many  ad- 
mirable qualities — is  social — liberal — gen- 
erous almost  to  a  fault — but  has  good  com- 
mon sense,  and  wit  enough,  I  take  it,  to  keep 
out  of  harm's  way." 

A  man  passing  the  house  at  the  moment 
gave  Simon  Slade  an  opportunity  to  break 
off  a  conversation  that  was  not,  I  could  pee, 
altogether  agreeable.  As  he  left  me,  I  arose 
and  stepped  into  the  bar-room.  Frank,  the 
landlord's  son,  was  behind  the  bar.  He  had 
grown  considerably  in  the  year — and  from  a 
rather  delicate,  innocent-looking  boy,  to  a 
stout,  bold  lad.  His  face  was  rounder,  and 
had  a  gross,  sensual  expression,  that  showed 
itself  particularly  about  the  mouth.  The 
man  Green  was  standing  beside  the  bar  talk- 
ingtohim,  and  I  noticed  that  Frank  laughed 
heartily  at  some  low,  half-obscene  remarks 
that  he  was  making.  In  the  midst  of  these, 
Flora,  the  sister  of  Frank,  a  really  beautiful 
girl,  came  in  to  get  something  from  the  bar. 
Green  spoke  to  her  familiarly,  and  Flora 
answered  him  with  a  perceptibly  height- 
ening color. 

I  glanced  toward  Frank,  half-expecting  to 
see  an  indignant  flush  on  his  young  face. 
But  no — he  looked  on  with  a  smile  1  u  Ah  1" 


46  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-BOOM. 

thought  I, "  have  the  boy's  pure  impulses  so 
soon  died  out  in  this  fatal  atmosphere? 
Can  he  bear  to  see  those  evil  eyes — he  knows 
they  are  evil — rest  upon  the  face  of  his  sis- 
ter ?  or  to  hear  those  lips,  only  a  moment 
since  polluted  with  vile  words,  address  her 
with  the  familiarity  of  a  friend  ?" 

"  Fine  girl,  that  sister  of  yours,  Frank ! 
Fine  girl !"  said  Green,  after  Flora  had  with- 
drawn—speaking  of  her  with  about  as  much 
respect  in  his  voice  as  if  he  were  praising  a 
fleet  racer  or  favorite  hound. 

The  boy  smiled,  with  a  pleased  air. 

"  I  must  try  and  find  her  a  good  husband, 
Frank.  I  wonder  if  she  wouldn't  have 
me?" 

"You'd  better  ask  her,"  said  the  boy, 
laughing. 

"  I  would,  if  I  thought  there  was  any 
chance  for  me." 

"  Nothing  like  trying.  Faint  heart  never 
won  fair  lady,"  returned  Frank,  more  with 
the  air  of  a  man  than  a  boy.  How  fast  he 
was  growing  old  I 

"  A  banter,  by  George  !"  exclaimed  Green, 
slapping  his  hands  together.  "  You're  a 
great  boy,  Frank  !  a  great  boy  !  I  shall  have 
to  talk  to  your  father  about  you.  Coming 
on  too  fast.  Have  to  be  put  back  in  your 
lessons — hey !" 

And  Green  winked  at  the  boy,  and  shook 
his  finger  at  him.  Frank  laughed  in  a  pleased 
way,  as  he  replied — 


NIGHT  THE  SECOND.  47 

"I  guess  I'll  do." 

"  I  guess  you  will,"  said  Green,  as,  satisfied 
with  his  colloquy,  he  turned  off  and  left  the 
bar-room. 

"  Have  something  to  drink,  sir  ?"  inquired 
Frank,  addressing  me  in  a  bold,  free  way. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Here's  a  newspaper,"  he  added. 

I  took  the  paper  and  sat  down— not  to 
read,  but  to  observe.  Two  or  three  men  soon 
came  in,  and  spoke  in  a  very  familiar  way  to 
Frank,  who  was  presently  busy  setting  out 
the  liquors  they  had  called  for.  Their  con- 
versation, interlarded  with  much  that  was 
profane  and  vulgar,  was  of  horses,  horse- 
racing,  gunning,  and  the  like,  to  all  of  which 
the  young  bar-keeper  lent  an  attentive  ear, 
putting  in  a  word  now  and  then,  and  show- 
ing an  intelligence  in  such  matters  quite  be- 
yond his  age.  In  the  midst  thereof,  Mr. 
Slade  made  his  appearance.  His  presence 
caused  a  marked  change  in  Frank,  who  re- 
tired from  his  place  among  the  men,  a  step 
or  two  outside  of  the  bar,  and  did  not  make 
a  remark  while  his  father  remained.  It  was 
plain  from  this  that  Mr.  Slade  was  not  only 
aware  of  Frank's  dangerous  precocity,  but 
had  already  marked  his  forwardness  by  re- 
buke. 

So  far,  all  that  I  had  seen  and  heard  im- 
pressed me  unfavorably,  notwithstanding 
the  declaration  of  Simon  Slade  that  every 
thing  about  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf"  wa» 


48  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

coming  on  "first-rate,"  and  that  he  was 
"  perfectly  satisfied  "  with  his  experiment. 
Why,  even  if  the  man  had  gained,  in  money, 
fifty  thousand  dollars  by  tavern-keeping  in 
a  year,  he  had  lost  a  jewel  in  the  innocence 
of  his  boy  that  was  beyond  all  valuation. 
"  Perfectly  satisfied ?"  Impossible!  He  was 
not  perfectly  satisfied.  How  could  he  be? 
The  look  thrown  upon  Frank  when  he  en- 
tered the  bar-room,  and  saw  him  "  hale  fel- 
low, well  met,"  with  three  or  four  idle,  pro- 
fane, drinking  customers,  contradicted  that 
assertion. 

After  supper  I  took  a  seat  in  the  bar- 
room, to  see  how  life  moved  on  in  that  place 
of  rendezvous  for  the  surface-population  of 
Cedarville.  Interest  enough  in  the  charac- 
ters I  had  met  there  a  year  before  remained 
for  me  to  choose  this  way  of  spending  the 
time,  instead  of  visiting  at  the  house  of  a 
gentleman  who  had  kindly  invited  me  to 
pass  an  evening  with  his  family. 

The  bar-room  custom,  I  soon  found,  had 
largely  increased  in  a  year.  It  now  required, 
for  a  good  part  of  the  time,  the  active  ser- 
vices of  both  the  landlord  and  his  son  to 
meet  the  calls  for  liquor.  What  pained  me 
most  was  to  see  the  large  number  of  lads 
and  young  men  who  came  in  to  lounge  and 
drink;  and  there  was  scarcely  one  of  them 
whose  face  did  not  show  marks  of  sensuality, 
or  whose  language  was  not  marred  by  ob- 
scenity, profanity,  or  vulgar  slang.  The  sub- 


NIGHT  TEE  SECOND.  49 

jects  of  conversation  were  varied  enough, 
though  politics  was  the  most  prominent.  In 
regard  to  politics,  I  heard  nothing  in  the  least 
instructive;  but  only  abuse  of  individuals 
and  dogmatism  on  public  measures.  They 
were  all  exceedingly  confident  in  assertion  ; 
but  I  listened  in  vain  for  exposition,  or  even 
for  demonstrative  facts.  He  who  asseverated 
in  the  most  positive  manner,  and  swore  the 
hardest,  carried  the  day  in  the  petty  contests. 
I  noticed,  early  in  the  evening,  and  at  a 
time  when  all  the  inmates  of  the  room  were 
in  the  best  possible  humor  with  themselves, 
the  entrance  of  an  elderly  man,  on  whose 
face  I  instantly  read  a  deep  concern.  It  was 
one  of  those  mild,  yet  strongly-marked  faces, 
that  strike  you  at  a  glance.  The  forehead 
was  broad,  the  eyes  large  and  far  back  in 
their  sockets,  the  lips  full  but  firm.  You 
saw  evidences  of  a  strong  but  well-balanced 
character.  As  he  came  in,  I  noticed  a  look 
of  intelligence  pass  from  one  to  another;  and 
then  the  eyes  of  two  or  three  were  fixed  upon 
a  young  man  who  was  seated  not  far  from 
me,  with  his  back  to  the  entrance,  playing  at 
dominos.  He  had  a  glass  of  ale  by  his  side. 
The  old  man  searched  about  the  room  for 
some  moments  before  his  glance  rested  upon 
the  individual  I  have  mentioned.  My  eyes 
were  full  upon  his  face  as  he  advanced  to- 
ward him,  yet  unseen.  Upon  it  was  not  a 
sign  of  angry  excitement,  but  a  most  touch- 
ing sorrow. 


50  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

"  Edward !"  he  said,  as  he  laid  his  hand 
gently  on  the  young  man's  shoulder.  The 
latter  started  at  the  voice,  and  crimsoned 
deeply.  A  few  moments  he  sat  irreso- 
lute. 

"  Edward,  my  son  !"  It  would  have  been 
a  oold,  hard  heart  indeed  that  softened  not 
under  the  melting  tenderness  of  these  tones. 
The  call  was  irresistible,  and  obedience  a 
necessity.  The  powers  of  evil  had  yet  too 
feeble  a  grasp  on  the  young  man's  heart  to 
hold  him  in  thrall.  Rising  with  a  half-re- 
luctant manner,  and  with  a  shamefacedness 
that  it  was  impossible  to  conceal,  he  retired 
as  quietly  as  possible.  The  notice  of  only  a 
few  in  the  bar-room  was  attracted  by  the  in- 
cident. 

"  I  can  tell  you  what,"  I  heard  the  indi- 
vidual with  whom  the  young  man  had  been 
playing  at  dominos,  remark — himself  not 
twenty  years  of  age — "  if  my  old  man  were 
to  make  a  fool  of  himself  in  this  way — 
sneaking  around  after  me  in  bar-rooms — 
he'd  get  only  his  trouble  for  his  pains.  I'd 
like  to  see  him  try  it,  though !  There'd  be 
a  nice  time  of  it,  I  guess.  Wouldn't  I  creep 
off  with  him  as  meek  as  a  lamb !  Ho !  ho ! 

"  Who  is  that  old  gentleman  who  came  in 
just  now?"  I  inquired  of  the  person  who 
thus  commented  on  the  incident  which  had 
just  occurred. 

"  Mr.  Hargrove  is  his  name." 

"  And  that  was  his  son  ?" 


NIGHT  THE  SECOND.  51 

"  Yes ;  and  I'm  only  sorry  he  doesn't  pos- 
sess a  little  more  spirit." 

"  How  old  is  he?" 

"  About  twenty." 

"  Not  of  legal  age,  then  ?" 

"  He's  old  enough  to  be  his  own  master." 

"  The  law  says  differently,"  I  suggested. 

In  answer,  the  young  man  cursed  the  law, 
snapping  his  fingers  in  its  imaginary  face  as 
he  did  so. 

"At  least  you  will  admit,"  said  I,  "  that 
Edward  Hargrove,  in  the  use  of  a  liberty  to 
go  where  he  pleases  and  do  what  he  pleases, 
exhibits  but  small  discretion." 

"  I  will  admit  no  such  thing.  What  harm 
is  there,  I  would  like  to  know,  in  a  social 
little  game  such  as  we  were  playing  ?  There 
were  no  stakes — we  were  not  gambling." 

I  pointed  to  the  half-emptied  glass  of  ale 
left  by  young  Hargrove. 

"Oh!  oh!"  half-sneered,  half-laughed  a 
man,  twice  the  age  of  the  one  I  had  ad- 
dressed, who  sat  near  by  listening  to  our 
conversation.  I  looked  at  him  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  said — 

"The  great  danger  lies  there,  without 
doubt.  If  it  were  only  a  glass  of  ale  and  a 
game  of  dominos ;  but  it  doesn't  stop  there, 
and  well  the  young  man's  father  knows  it." 

"  Perhaps  he  does,"  was  answered.  "  I  re- 
member him  in  his  younger  days ;  and  a 
pretty  high  boy  he  was.  He  didn't  stop  at 
&  glass  of  ale  and  a  game  at  dominos  ;  not 


52  TEN  KIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOX. 

he  !  I've  seen  him  as  drunk  as  a  lord  many 
a  time ;  and  many  a  time  at  a  horse-race  or 
cock-fight,  betting  with  the  bravest.  I  was 
only  a  boy,  though  a  pretty  old  boy  ;  but  I 
can  tell  you,  Hargrove  was  no  saint." 

"  I  wonder  not,  then,  that  he  is  anxious 
for  his  son,"  was  my  remark.  "  He  knows 
well  the  lurking  dangers  in  the  path  he  seems 
inclined  to  enter." 

"  I  don't  see  that  they  have  done  him  much 
harm.  He  sowed  his  wild  oats,  then  got  mar- 
ried and  settled  down  into  a  good,  substan- 
tial citizen.  A  little  too  religious  and  phar- 
isaical  I  always  thought,  but  upright  in 
his  dealings.  He  had  his  pleasures  in  early 
life,  as  was  befitting  the  season  of  youth-^- 
why  not  let  his  son  taste  of  the  same  agree- 
able fruit?  He's  wrong,  sir;  wrong!  And 
I've  said  as  much  to  Ned.  I  only  wish  the 
boy  had  showed  the  right  spunk  this  even- 
ing, and  told  the  old  man  to  go  home  about 
his  business." 

"So  do  I,"  chimed  in  the  young  disciple 
in  this  bad  school.  "  It's  what  I'd  say  to 
my  old  man,  in  double-quick  time,  if  he  was 
to  come  hunting  after  me." 

"He  knows  better  than  to  do  that,"  said 
the  other,  in  a  way  that  let  me  deeper  into 
the  young  man's  character. 

"  Indeed  he  does.  He's  tried  his  hand  on 
me  once  or  twice  during  the  last  year,  but 
fc'M.nd  it  wouldn't  do,  no  how;  Tom  Peters 
*•'  ''at  of  his  leading-strings." 


NIGHT  THE  SECOND.  53 

"And  can  drink  his  glass  with  any  one, 
and  not  be  a  grain  the  worse  for  it." 

"  Exactly,  old  boy !"  said  Peters,  slapping 
his  preceptor  on  the  knee.  "  Exactly !  I'm 
not  one  of  your  weak-headed  ones.  Oh, 
no!" 

u  Look  here,  Joe  Morgan !" — the  half- 
angry  voice  of  Simon  Slade  now  rung 
through  the  bar-room—"  just  take  yourself 
off  home  1" 

I  had  not  observed  the  entrance  of  this 
person.  He  was  standing  at  the  bar  with  an 
emptied  glass  in  his  hand.  A  year  had 
made  no  improvement  in  his  appearance. 
On  the  contrary,  his  clothes  were  more  worn 
and  tattered ;  his  countenance  more  sadly 
marred.  What  he  had  said  to  irritate  the 
landlord,  I  know  not ;  but  Blade's  face  was 
fiery  with  passion,  and  his  eyes  glared 
threateningly  at  the  poor  besotted  one,  who 
showed  not  the  least  inclination  to  obey. 

"Off  with  you,  I  say!  And  never  show 
your  face  here  again.  I  won't  have  such 
low  vagabonds  as  you  are  about  my  house. 
If  you  can't  keep  decent  and  stay  decent, 
don't  intrude  yourself  here." 

"A  rum-seller  talk  of  decency !"  retorted 
Morgan.  "  Pah  !  You  were  a  decent  man 
once,  and  a  good  miller  into  the  bargain. 
But  that  time's  past  and  gone.  Decency 
died  out  when  you  exchanged  the  pick  and 
facing-hammer  for  the  glass  and  muddler. 
Decency  1  Pah !  How  you  talk !  As  if  it 


54  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

were  any  more  decent  to  sell  rum  than  to 
drink  it." 

There  was  so  much  of  biting  contempt  in 
the  tones  as  well  as  the  words  of  the  half- 
intoxicated  man,  that  Slade,  who  had  him- 
self been  drinking  rather  more  freely  than 
usual,  was  angered  beyond  self  control. 
Catching  up  an  empty  glass  from  the  coun- 
ter, he  hurled  it  with  all  his  strength  at  the 
head  of  Joe  Morgan.  The  missile  just 
grazed  one  of  his  temples,  and  flew  by  on 
its  dangerous  course.  The  quick  sharp  cry 
of  a  child  startled  the  air,  followed  by  ex- 
clamations of  alarm  and  horror  from  many 
voices. 

"  It's  Joe  Morgan's  child  I"  "  He's  killed 
her!"  "Good  heavens!"  Such  were  the 
exclamations  that  rang  through  the  room. 
I  was  among  the  first  to  reach  the  spot  where 
a  little  girl,  just  gliding  in  through  the  door, 
had  been  struck  on  the  forehead  by  the 
glass,  which  had  cut  a  deep  gash,  and 
stunned  her  into  insensibility.  The  blood 
flowed  instantly  from  the  wound,  and 
covered  her  face,  which  presented  a  shock- 
ing appearance.  As  I  lifted  her  from  the 
floor,  upon  which  she  had  fallen,  Morgan, 
into  whose  very  soul  the  piercing  cry  of  his 
child  had  penetrated,  stood  by  my  side,  and 
grappled  his  arms  around  her  insensible 
form,  uttering  as  he  did  so  heart-touching 
moans  and  lamentations. 

"What's  the  matter?     Oh,    what's  tht. 


NIGHT  THE  SECON-D.  55 

matter  ?"  It  was  a  woman's  voice,s  peak- 
ing in  frightened  tones. 

"  It's  nothing !  Just  go  out,  will  you, 
Ann  ?"  I  heard  the  landlord  say. 

But  his  wife — it  was  Mrs.  Slade — having 
heard  the  shrieks  of  pain  and  terror  uttered 
by  Morgan's  child,  had  come  running  into 
the  bar-room — heeded  not  his  words,  but 
pressed  forward  into  the  little  group  that 
stood  around  the  bleeding  girl. 

"  Run  for  Doctor  Green,  Frank,"  she  cried 
in  an  imperative  voice,  the  moment  her 
eyes  rested  on  the  little  one's  bloody  face. 

Frank  came  around  from  behind  the  bar, 
in  obedience  to  the  word;  but  his  father 
gave  a  partial  countermand,  and  he  stood 
still.  Upon  observing  which  his  mother  re- 
peated the  order,  even  more  emphatically. 

"  Why  don't  you  jump,  you  young  ras- 
cal !"  exclaimed  Harvey  Green.  "  The  child 
may  be  dead  before  the  doctor  can  get 
here." 

Frank  hesitated  no  longer,  but  disappeared 
instantly  through  the  door. 

"  Poor,  poor  child  !"  almost  sobbed  Mrs. 
Slade,  as  she  lifted  the  insensible  form  from 
my  arms.  "How  did  it  happen?  Who 
struck  her?" 

"Who?  Curse  him!  Who  but  Simon 
Slade?''  answered  Joe  Morgan,  through  his 
clinched  teeth. 

The  look  of  anguish,  mingled  with  bitter 
reproach,  instantly  thrown  upon  the  land- 


66  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-BOOM. 

lord  by  his  wife,  can  hardly  be  forgotten  by 
any  who  saw  it  that  night. 

l< Oh,  Simon!  Simon!  And  has  it  come 
to  this  already  ?' '  What  a  world  of  bitter 
memories,  and  sad  forebodings  of  evil,  did 
that  little  sentence  express.  "  To  this  al- 
ready " — Ah  !  In  the  downward  way,  how 
rapidly  the  steps  do  tread — how  fast  the 
progress ! 

"  Bring  me  a  basin  of  water,  and  a  towel, 
quickly !"  she  now  exclaimed. 

The  water  was  brought,  and  in  a  little 
while  the  face  of  the  child  lay  pure  and 
white  as  snow  against  her  bosom.  The 
wound  from  which  the  blood  had  flowed  so 
freely  was  found  on  the  upper  part  of  the 
forehead,  a  little  to  the  side,  and  extending 
several  inches  back,  along  the  top  of  the 
head.  As  soon  as  the  blood  stains  were 
wiped  away,  and  the  effusion  partially 
stopped,  Mrs.  Slade  carried  the  still  insensi- 
ble body  into  the  next  room,  whither  the 
distressed,  and  now  completely  sobered 
father,  accompanied  her.  I  went  with  them, 
but  Slade  remained  behind. 

The  arrival  of  the  doctor  was  soon  fol- 
lowed by  the  restoration  of  life  to  the  inani- 
mate body.  He  happened  to  be  at  home, 
and  came  instantly.  He  had  just  taken  the 
last  stitch  in  the  wound,  which  required  to 
be  drawn  together,  and  was  applying  strips 
of  adhesive  plaster,  when  the  hurried  en- 
trance of  some  one  caused  me  to  look  up. 


NIGHT  THE  SECOND.  57 

What  an  apparition  met  my  eyes !  A  wo- 
man stood  in  the  door,  with  a  face  in  which 
maternal  anxiety  and  terror  blended  fear- 
fully. Her  countenance  was  like  ashes — 
her  eyes  straining  wildly — her  lips  apart, 
while  the  panting  breath  almost  hissed 
•through  them. 

"Joe!  Joe!  What  is  it?  Where  is  Mary? 
Is  she  dead  ?"  were  her  eager  inquiries. 

"No,  Fanny,"  answered  Joe  Morgan, 
starting  up  from  where  he  was  actually 
kneeling  by  the  side  of  the  reviving  one,  and 
going  quickly  to  his  wife.  "  She's  better 
now.  It's  a  bad  hurt,  but  the  doctor  says 
it's  nothing  dangerous.  Poor,  dear  child  !" 

The  pale  face  of  the  mother  grew  paler — 
she  gasped — caught  for  breath  two  or  three 
times — a  low  shudder  ran  through  her  frame 
— and  then  she  lay  white  and  pulseless  in 
the  arms  of  her  husband.  As  the  doctor 
applied  restoratives,  I  had  opportunity  to 
note  more  particularly  the  appearance  of 
Mrs.  Morgan.  Her  person  was  very  slender, 
and  her  face  so  attenuated  that  it  might  al- 
most be  called  shadowy.  Her  hair,  which 
was  a  rich  chestnut  brown,  with  a  slight 
golden  lustre,  had  fallen  from  her  comb,  and 
now  lay  all  over  her  neck  and  bosom  in 
beautiful  luxuriance.  Back  from  her  full 
temples  it  had  been  smoothed  away  by  the 
hand  of  Morgan,  that  all  the  while  moved 
over  her  brow  and  temples  with  a  caressing 
motion  that  I  saw  was  unconscious,  ana 


58  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

which  revealed  the  tenderness  of  feeling 
with  which,  debased  as  he  was,  he  regarded 
the  wife  of  his  youth,  and  the  long  suffering 
companion  of  his  later  and  evil  days.  Her 
dress  was  plain  and  coarse,  but  clean  and 
well-fitting;  and  about  her  whole  person 
was  an  air  of  neatness  and  taste.  She  could 
not  now  be  called  beautiful;  yet  in  her 
marred  features — marred  by  suffering  and 
grief — were  many  lineaments  of  beauty; 
and  much  that  told  of  a  pure,  true  woman's 
heart  beating  in  her  bosom.  Life  came 
slowly  back  to  the  stilled  heart,  and  it  was 
nearly  half  an  hour  before  the  circle  of  mo- 
tion was  fully  restored. 

Then,  the  twain,  with  their  child,  tenderly 
borne  in  the  arms  of  her  father,  went  sadly 
homeward,  leaving  more  than  one  heart 
heavier  for  their  visit. 

I  saw  more  of  the  landlord's  wife  on  this 
occasion  than  before.  She  had  acted  with  a 
promptness  and  humanity  that  impressed 
me  very  favorably.  It  was  plain,  from  her 
exclamations  on  learning  that  her  husband's 
hand  inflicted  the  blow  that  came  so  near 
destroying  the  child's  life,  that  her  faith  for 
good  in  the  tavern-keeping  experiment  had 
never  been  strong.  I  had  already  inferred 
as  much.  Her  face,  the  few  times  I  had  seen 
her,  wore  a  troubled  look ;  and  I  could  never 
forget  its  expression,  nor  her  anxious,  warn- 
ing voice,  when  she  discovered  Frank  sip- 
ping the  dregs  from  a  glass  in  the  bar-room. 


NIGHT  THE  SECOND.  59 

It  is  rarely,  I  believe,  that  wives  consent 
freely  to  the  opening  of  taverns  by  their  hus- 
bands; and  the  determination  on  the  part 
of  the  latter  to  do  so  is  not  unfrequently 
attended  with  a  breach  of  confidence  and 
good  feeling,  never  afterward  fully  healed. 
Men  look  close  to  the  money  result ;  women 
to  the  moral  consequences.  I  doubt  if  there 
be  one  dram-seller  in  ten,  between  whom  and 
his  wife  there  exists  a  good  understanding — 
to  say  nothing  of  genuine  affection.  And, 
in  the  exceptional  cases,  it  will  generally  be 
found  that  the  wife  is  as  mercenary,  or  care- 
less of  the  public  good,  as  her  husband.  I 
have  known  some  women  to  set  up  grog- 
shops ;  but  they  were  women  of  bad  princi- 
ples and  worse  hearts.  I  remember  one  case, 
where  a  woman,  with  a  sober,  church-going 
husband,  opened  a  dram-shop.  The  hus- 
band opposed,  remonstrated,  begged,  threat- 
ened— but  all  to  no  purpose.  The  wife,  by 
working  for  the  clothing  stores,  had  earned 
and  saved  about  three  hundred  dollars.  The 
love  of  money,  in  the  slow  process  of  accumu- 
lation, had  been  awakened;  and,  in  minis- 
tering to  the  depraved  appetites  of  men  who 
loved  drink  and  neglected  their  families,  she 
saw  a  quicker  mode  of  acquiring  the  gold 
she  coveted.  And  so  the  dram-shop  was 
opened.  And  what  was  the  result?  The 
husband  quit  going  to  church.  He  had  no 
heart  for  that ;  for,  even  on  the  Sabbath-day, 
the  fiery  stream  was  stayed  not  in  his  hous* 


60  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

Next  he  began  to  tipple.  Soon,  alas!  the 
subtle  poison  so  pervaded  his  system  that 
morbid  desire  came;  and  then  he  moved 
along  quick-footed  in  the  way  to  ruin.  In 
less  than  three  years,  I  think,  from  the  time 
the  grog  shop  was  opened  by  his  wife,  he 
was  in  a  drunkard's  grave.  A  year  or  two 
more,  and  the  pit  that  was  digged  for  others 
by  the  hands  of  the  wife,  she  fell  into  her- 
self. Ever  breathing  an  atmosphere,  poi- 
soned by  the  fumes  of  liquor,  the  love  of 
tasting  it  was  gradually  formed,  and  she  too, 
in  the  end,  became  a  slave  to  the  Demon  of 
Drink.  She  died,  at  last,  poor  as  a  beggar 
in  the  street.  Ah!  this  liquor-selling  is  the 
way  to  ruin ;  and  they  who  open  the  gates, 
as  well  as  those  who  enter  the  downward 
path,  alike  go  to  destruction.  But  this  is 
digressing. 

After  Joe  Morgan  and  his  wife  left  the 
"  Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  with  that  gentle  child, 
who,  as  I  afterward  learned,  had  not,  for  a 
year  or  more,  laid  her  little  head  to  sleep 
until  her  father  returned  home— and  who, 
ii  he  stayed  out  beyond  a  certain  hour, 
would  go  for  him,  and  lead  him  back,  a  very 
angel  of  love  and  patience — I  re-entered  the 
bar-room,  to  see  how  life  was  passing  there. 
Not  one  of  all  I  had  left  in  the  room  re- 
mained. The  incident  which  had  occurred 
was  of  so  painful  a  nature  that  no  further 
unalloyed  pleasure  was  to  be  had  there  dur- 
ing the  evening,  and  so  each  had  retired.  In 


SIGHT  THE  SECOND.  61 

his  little  kingdom  the  landlord  sat  alone, 
his  head  resting  on  his  hand,  and  his  face 
shaded  from  the  light.  The  whole  aspect 
of  the  man  was  that  of  one  in  self-humilia- 
tion. As  I  entered  he  raised  his  head,  and 
turned  his  face  toward  me.  Its  expression 
was  painful. 

"  Rather  an  unfortunate  affair,"  said  he. 
"  I'm  angry  with  myself,  and  sorry  for  the 
poor  child.  But  she'd  no  business  here. 
As  for  Joe  Morgan,  it  would  take  a  saint 
to  bear  his  tongue  when  once  set  a-going 
by  liquor.  I  wish  he'd  stay  away  from  the 
house.  Nobody  wants  his  company.  Oh 
dear !" 

The  ejaculation,  or  rather  groan,  that 
closed  the  sentence,  showed  how  little  Slade 
was  satisfied  with  himself,  notwithstanding 
this  feeble  effort  at  self-justification. 

"  His  thirst  for  liquor  draws  him  hither," 
I  remarked.  "  The  attraction  of  your  bar  to 
his  appetite  is  like  that  of  the  magnet  to  the 
needle.  He  cannot  stay  away." 

"  He  must  stay  away  ["exclaimed  the  land' 
lord,  with  some  vehemence  of  tone,  striking 
his  fist  upon  the  table  by  which  he  sat.  "  He 
must  stay  away !  There  is  scarcely  an  even- 
ing that  he  does  not  ruffle  my  temper,  and 
mar  good  feelings  in  all  the  company.  Just 
see  what  he  provoked  me  to  do  this  evening. 
I  might  have  killed  the  child.  It  makes  my 
blood  run  cold  to  think  of  it!  Yes,  sir — 
he  must  stay  away.  If  no  better  can  be 


62  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

done,  I'll  hire  a  man  to  stand  at  the  door 
and  keep  him  out." 

"  He  never  troubled  you  at  the  mill,"  said 
I.  "  No  man  was  required  at  the  mill- 
door?" 

"No!"  And  the  landlord  gave  emphasis 
to  the  word  by  an  oath,  ejaculated  with  a 
heartiness  that  almost  startled  me.  I  had 
not  heard  him  swear  before.  "  No,  the  great 
trouble  was  to  get  him  and  keep  him  there, 
the  good-for-nothing,  idle  fellow !" 

"  I'm  afraid,"  I  ventured  to  suggest,  "  that 
things  don't  go  on  quite  so  smoothly  here  as 
they  did  at  the  mill.  Your  customers  are 
of  a  different  class." 

"I  don't  know  about  that;  why  not?" 
He  did  not  just  relish  my  remark. 

"Between  quiet,  thrifty,  substantial  farm- 
ers, and  drinking  bar-room  loungers,  are 
many  degrees  of  comparison." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir !"  Simon  Slade  elevated 
his  person.  "  The  men  who  visit  my  bar- 
room, as  a  general  thing,  are  quite  as  respec- 
table, moral,  and  substantial  as  any  who 
came  to  the  mill — and  I  believe  more  so. 
The  first  people  in  the  place,  sir,  are  to  be 
found  here.  Judge  Lyman  and  Judge  Ham- 
mond ;  Lawyer  Wilks  and  Doctor  Maynard ; 
Mr.  Grand  and  Mr.  Lee;  and  dozens  of 
others — all  our  first  people.  No  sir ;  you 
mustn't  judge  all  by  vagabonds  like  Joe 
Morgan." 

There  was  a  testy  spirit  manifested  that  I 


NIOHT  THE  SECOND.  63 

did  not  care  to  provoke.  I  could  have  met 
his  assertion  with  facts  and  inferences  of  a 
character  to  startle  anyone  occupying  his 
position,  who  was  in  a  calm,  reflective  state ; 
but  to  argue  with  him  then  would  have  been 
worse  than  idle ;  and  so  I  let  him  talk  on 
until  the  excitement  occasioned  by  my 
words  died  out  for  want  of  new  fuel. 


NIGHT   THE  THIRD. 

Joe  Morgan's  Child. 

"  I  DON'T  see  anything  of  your  very  par- 
ticular friend,  Joe  Morgan,  this  evening," 
said  Harvey  Green,  leaning  on  the  bar  and 
speaking  to  Slade.  It  was  the  night  suc- 
ceeding that  on  which  the  painful  and  ex- 
citing scene  with  the  child  had  occurred. 

"  No,"  was  answered — and  to  the  word  was 
added  a  profane  imprecation.  "  No ;  and 
if  he'll  just  keep  away  from  here,  he  may  go 
to on  a  hard  trotting  horse  and  a  porcu- 
pine saddle  as  fast  as  he  pleases.  He's  tried 
my  patience  beyond  endurance,  and  my 
mind  is  made  up  that  he  gets  no  more 
drams  at  this  bar.  I've  borne  his  vile 
tongue  and  seen  my  company  annoyed  by 
him  just  as  long  as  I  mean  to  stand  it. 
Last  night  decided  me.  Suppose  I'd  killed 
that  child  ?" 

"You'd  have  had  trouble  then,  and  no 
mistake." 

"Wouldn't  I?  Blast  her  little  picture! 
What  business  has  she  creeping  in  here  every 
night?" 

"  She  must  have  a  nice  kind  of  a  mother," 
remarked  Green  with  a  cold  sneer. 

"I  don't  know  what  she  is  now,"  said 
(64) 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD.  65 

Blade,  a  slight  touch  of  feeling  in  his  voice 
— "heart-broken,  I  suppose.  I  couldn't 
look  at  her  last  night;  it  made  me  sick. 
But  there  was  a  time  when  Fanny  Morgan 
was  the  loveliest  and  best  woman  in  Cedar- 
ville.  I'll  say  that  for  her.  Oh  dear !  What 
a  life  her  miserable  husband  has  caused  her 
to  lead." 

"  Better  that  he  were  dead  and  out  of  the 
way." 

"  Better  a  thousand  times,"  answered 
Slade.  "  If  he'd  only  fall  down  some  night 
and  break  his  neck,*  it  would  be  a  blessing 
to  his  family." 

"And  to  you  in  particular,"  laughed 
Green. 

"  You  may  be  sure  it  wouldn't  cost  me  a 
large  sum  for  mourning,"  was  the  unfeeling 
response. 

Let  us  leave  the  bar-room  of  the  "  Sickle 
and  Sheaf,"  and  its  cold-hearted  inmates, 
and  look  in  upon  the  family  of  Joe  Morgan, 
and  see  how  it  is  in  the  home  of  the  poor 
inebriate.  We  will  pass  by  a  quick  transi- 
tion. 

"Joe!"  the  thin  white  hand  of  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan clasps  the  arm  of  her  husband,  who  has 
arisen  up  suddenly,  and  now  stands  by  the 
partly  opened  door.  "  Don't  go  out  to-night, 
Joe.  Please,  don't  go  out." 

"Father!"    A  feeble  voice  calls  from  the 
corner  of  an  old  settee,  where  little  Mary  lies 
with  her  head  bandaged. 
C 


66  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

"  Well,  I  won't  then  !"  is  replied — not 
angrily,  nor  even  fretfully — but  in  a  kind 
voice. 

"  Come  and  sit  by  me,  father."  How  ten- 
derly, yet  how  full  of  concern  is  that  low, 
sweet  voice.  "  Come,  won't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  Now  hold  my  hand,  father." 

Joe  takes  the  hand  of  little  Mary,  that  in- 
stantly tightens  upon  his. 

"  You  won't  go  away  and  leave  me  to- 
night, will  you,  father?  Say  you  won't." 

"  How  very  hot  your  hand  is,  dear.  Does 
your  head  ache  ?" 

"A  little;  but  it  will  soon  feel  better." 

Up  into  the  swollen  and  disfigured  face 
of  the  fallen  father,  the  large,  earnest  blue 
eyes  of  the  child  are  raised.  She  does  not 
see  the  marred  lineaments,  but  only  the 
beloved  countenance  of  her  parent. 

"  Dear  father !" 

"  What,  love  ?" 

"  I  wish  you'd  promise  me  something." 

"What,  dear?" 

"Will  you  promise?" 

"  I  can't  say  until  I  hear  your  request  If 
I  can  promise,  I  will." 

"  Oh,  you  can  promise — you  can,  father  1" 

How  the  large  blue  eyes  dance  and 
sparkle. 

"What  is  it,  love?" 

"  That  you'll  never  go  into  Simon  Slade's 
bar  any  more." 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD.  67 

The  child  raises  herself,  evidently  with  a 
gainful  effort,  and  leans  nearer  to  her  father. 

Joe  shakes  his  head,  and  poor  Mary  drops 
back  upon  her  pillow  with  a  sigh.  Her  lids 
fall,  and  the  long  lashes  lie  strongly  relieved 
on  her  colorless  cheeks. 

"  I  won't  go  there  to-night,  dear.  So  let 
your  heart  be  at  rest." 

Mary's  lids  unclose,  and  two  round  drops, 
released  from  their  clasp,  glide  slowly  over 
her  face. 

"  Thank  you,  father — thank  you.  Mother 
will  be  so  glad." 

The  eyes  closed  again,  and  the  father 
moved  uneasily.  His  heart  is  touched. 
There  is  a  struggle  within  him.  It  is  on  his 
lips  to  say  that  he  will  never  drink  at  the 
"Sickle  and  Sheaf"  again;  but  resolution 
just  lacks  the  force  of  utterance. 

"Father!" 

"Well,  dear!" 

"  I  don't  think  I'll  be  well  enough  to  go 
out  in  two  or  three  days.  You  know  the 
doctor  said  that  I  would  have  to  keep  very 
still,  for  I  had  a  great  deal  of  fever." 

"  Yes,  poor  child." 

"  Now,  won't  you  promise  me  one  thing?" 

"What  is  it,  dear?" 

"  Not  to  go  out  in  the  evening  until  I  get 
well." 

Joe  Morgan  hesitated. 

"  Just  promise  me  that,  father.  It  won't  be 
long.  I  shall  be  up  again  in  a  little  while.** 


68  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM^. 

How  well  the  father  knows  what  is  in  the 
heart  of  his  child.  Her  fears  are  all  for  him. 
Who  is  to  go  after  her  poor  father,  and  lead 
him  home  when  the  darkness  of  inebriety 
is  on  his  spirit,  and  external  perception  so 
dulled  that  not  skill  enough  remains  to  shun 
the  harm  that  lies  in  his  path? 

"  Do  promise  just  that,  father,  dear." 

He  cannot  resist  the  pleading  voice  and 
look. 

"  I  promise  it,  Mary  ;  so  shut  your  eyes 
now  and  go  to  sleep.  I'm  afraid  this  fever 
will  increase." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad — so  glad  !" 

Mary  does  not  clasp  her  hands,  nor  show 
strong  external  signs  of  pleasure;  but  how 
full  of  a  pure,  unselfish  joy  is  that  low  mur- 
mured ejaculation,  spoken  in  the  depths  of 
her  spirit,  as  well  as  syllabled  by  her  tonguel 

Mrs.  Morgan  has  been  no  unconcerned 
witness  of  all  this;  but  knowing  the  child's 
influence  over  her  father,  she  has  not  ven- 
tured a  word.  More  was  to  be  gained,  she 
'was  sure,  by  silence  on  her  part;  and  so  she 
has  kept  silent.  Now  she  comes  nearer  to 
them,  and  says,  as  she  lets  a  hand  rest  on 
the  shoulder  of  her  husband — 

"  You  feel  better  for  that  promise  already ; 
I  know  you  do." 

He  looks  up  to  her,  and  smiles  faintly. 
He  does  feel  better,  but  is  hardly  willing  to 
acknowledge  it. 

Soon  after  Mary  is  sleeping.     It  does  not 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD.  69 

escape  the  observation  of  Mrs.  Morgan  that 
her  husband  grows  restless  ;  for  he  gets  up 
suddenly,  every  now  and  then,  and  walks 
quickly  across  the  room,  as  if  in  search  of 
something.  Then  sits  down,  listlessly — 
sighs— stretches  himself,  and  says — "  Oh 
dear!"  What  shall  she  do  for  him  ?  How 
is  the  want  of  his  accustomed  evening  stimu- 
lus to  be  met?  She  thinks,  and  questions, 
and  grieves  inwardly.  Poor  Joe  Morgan  ! 
His  wife  understands  his  case,  and  pities 
him  from  her  heart.  But  what  can  she  do? 
Go  out  and  get  him  something  to  drink? 
"Oh,  no!  no!  no!  Never!"  Sheanswered 
the  thought  audibly  almost,  in  the  excite- 
ment of  her  feelings.  An  hour  has  passed — 
Joe's  restlessness  has  increased  instead  of 
diminishing.  What  is  to  be  done?  Now 
Mrs.  Morgan  has  left  the  room.  She  has  re- 
solved upon  something,  for  the  case  must  be 
met.  Ah  !  here  she  comes,  after  an  absence 
of  five  minutes,  bearing  in  her  hand  a  cup 
of  strong  coffee. 

"It  was  kind  and  thoughtful  in  yon, 
Fanny,"  says  Morgan,  as  with  a  gratified 
look  he  takes  the  cup.  But  his  hand  trem- 
bles, and  he  spills  a  portion  of  the  contents 
as  he  tries  to  raise  it  to  his  lips.  How  dread- 
fully his  nerves  are  shattered!  Unnatural 
stimulants  have  been  applied  so  long  that 
all  true  vitality  seems  lost. 

And  now  the  hand  of  his  wife  is  holding 
the  cup  to  his  lips,  and  he  drinks  eagerly. 


70  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

"  This  is  dreadful— dreadful !  Where  will 
it  end  ?  What  is  to  be  done  ?" 

Fanny  suppresses  a  sob,  as  she  thus  gives 
vent  to  her  troubled  feelings.  Twice  already 
has  her  husband  been  seized  with  the  drunk- 
ard's madness;  and,  in  the  nervous  prostra- 
tion consequent  upon  even  a  brief  with- 
drawal of  his  usual  strong  stimulants,  she 
sees  the  fearful  precursor  of  another  attack 
of  this  dreadful  and  dangerous  malady.  In 
the  hope  of  supplying  the  needed  tone  she 
has  given  him  strong  coffee ;  and  this,  for 
the  time,  produces  the  effect  desired.  The 
restlessness  is  allayed,  and  a  quiet  state  of 
body  and  mind  succeeds.  It  needs  but  a 
suggestion  to  induce  him  to  retire  for  the 
night.  After  being  a  few  minutes  in  bed, 
sleep  steals  over  him,  and  his  heavy  breath- 
ing tells  that  he  is  in  the  world  of  dreams. 

And  now  there  comes  a  tap  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  is  answered. 

The  latch  is  lifted,  the  door  swings  open, 
and  a  woman  enters. 

"  Mrs.  Slade  I"  The  name  is  uttered  in  a 
tone  of  surprise. 

"Fanny,  how  are  you  this  evening?" 
Kindly,  yet  half-sadly,  the  words  are  said. 

"  Tolerable,  I  thank  you." 

The  hands  of  the  two  women  are  clasped, 
and  for  a  few  moments  they  gaze  into  each 
other's  face.  What  a  world  of  tender  com- 
miseration is  in  that  of  Mrs.  Slade  I 

"  How  is  little  Mary  to-night?" 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD.  71 

"  Not  so  well,  I'm  afraid.  She  has  a  good 
deal  of  fever." 

"Indeed!  Oh,  I'm  sorry  I  Poor  child! 
what  a  dreadful  thing  it  was.  Oh,  Fanny  I 
you  don't  know  how  it  has  troubled  me. 
I've  been  intending  to  come  around  all  day 
to  see  how  she  was,  but  couldn't  get  off  until 
now." 

"  It  came  near  killing  her,"  said  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan. 

"It's  in  God's  mercy  she  escaped.  The 
thought  of  it  curdles  the  very  blood  in  my 
veins.  Poor  child  I  is  this  her  on  the  settee  ?" 

"Yes." 

Mrs.  Slade  takes  a  chair,  and  sitting  by 
the  sleeping  child,  gazes  long  upon  her  pale, 
sweet  face.  Now  the  lips  of  Mary  part — 
words  are  murmured— what  is  she  saying? 

"  No,  no,  mother ;  I  can't  go  to  bed  yet. 
Father  isn't  home.  And  it's  so  dark.  There's 
no  one  to  lead  him  over  the  bridge.  I'm  not 
afraid.  Don't — don't  cry  so,  mother — I'm 
not  afraid !  Nothing  will  hurt  me." 

The  child's  face  flushes.  She  moans,  and 
throws  her  arms  about  uneasily.  Hark  again. 

"  I  wish  Mr.  Slade  wouldn't  look  so  cross 
at  me.  He  never  did  when  I  went  to  the 
mill.  He  doesn't  take  me  on  his  knee  now, 
and  stroke  my  hair.  Oh  dear !  I  wish  father 
wouldn't  go  there  any  more.  Don't  I  don't, 
Mr.  Slade.  Oh!  oh!" — the  ejaculation  pro- 
longed into  a  frightened  cry,  "  My  head  !  my 
head !'' 


72  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-ROOM. 

A  few  choking  sobs  are  followed  by  low 
moans ;  and  then  the  child  breathes  easily 
again.  But  the  flush  does  not  leave  her 
cheek;  and  when  Mrs.  Slade,  from  whose 
eyes  the  tears  come  forth  drop  by  drop,  and 
roll  down  her  face,  touches  it  lightly,  she 
finds  it  hot  with  fever. 

"  Has  the  doctor  seen  her  to-day,  Fanny  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  He  should  see  her  at  once.  I  will  go  for 
him ;"  and  Mrs.  Slade  starts  up  and  goes 
quickly  from  the  room.  In  a  little  while  she 
returns  with  Doctor  Green,  who  sits  down 
and  looks  at  the  child  for  some  moments 
with  a  sober,  thoughtful  face.  Then  he  lays 
his  fingers  on  her  pulse  and  times  its  beat 
by  his  watch — shakes  his  head,  and  looks 
graver  still. 

';  How  long  has  she  had  fever?7'  he  asks. 
All  day." 

You  should  have  sent  for  me  earlier." 
:0h   doctor!     She  is    not  dangerous,   I 
hope?"     Mrs.  Morgan  looks  frightened. 

'  She  is  a  sick  child,  madam." 
'You've  promised,  father" — the  dreamer 
is  speaking  again — "  I'm  not  well  enough 
yet.  Oh,  don't  go,  father;  don't!  There! 
He's  gone!  Well,  well!  I'll  try  and  walk 
there — I  can  sit  down  and  rest  by  the  way. 
Oh  dear,  how  tired  I  am!  Father!  Father!" 

The  child  starts  up  and  looks  about  her 
wildly. 

"  Oh,  mother,  is  it  you?"     And  she  sinks 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD  78 

back  upon  her  pillow,  looking  now  inquir- 
ingly from  face  to  face. 

"  Father— where  is  father  ?''  she  asks. 

"Asleep,  dear." 

"Oh!  Is  he?  I'm  glad." 

Her  eyes  close  wearily. 

"  Do  you  feel  any  pain,  Mary  ?"  inquired 
the  doctor. 

"  Yes,  sir— in  my  head.  It  aches  and  beats 


so." 

The  cry  of  "Father"  has  reached  the 
ears  of  Morgan,  who  is  sleeping  in  the  next 
room,  and  roused  him  into  consciousness. 
He  knows  the  doctor's  voice.  Why  is  he 
here  at  this  late  hour  ?  "  Do  you  feel  any 
pain,  Mary?"  The  question  he  hears  dis- 
tinctly, and  the  faintly  uttered  reply  also. 
He  is  sober  enough  to  have  all  his  fears  in- 
stantly excited.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
world  that  he  loves  as  he  loves  that  child. 
And  so  he  gets  up  and  dresses  himself  as 
quickly  as  possible,  the  stimulus  of  anxiety 
giving  tension  to  his  relaxed  nerves. 

"  Oh  father !"  The  quick  ears  of  Mary  de- 
tect his  entrance  first,  and  a  pleasant  smile 
welcomes  him. 

"  Is  she  very  sick,  doctor  ?"  he  asks,  in  a 
voice  full  of  anxiety. 

"  She's  a  sick  child,  sir  ;  you  should  have 
sent  for  me  earlier."  The  doctor  speaks 
rather  sternly,  and  with  a  purpose  to  rebuke. 

The  reply  stirs  Morgan,  and  he  seems  to 
cower  half-timidly  under  the  words,  as  if 


Y4  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

they  were  blows.  Mary  has  already  grasped 
her  father's  hand,  and  holds  on  to  it  tightly. 
After  examining  the  case  a  little  more  close- 
ly, the  doctor  prepares  some  medicine,  and, 
promising  to  call  early  in  the  morning,  goes 
away.  Mrs.  Slade  follows  soon  after;  but, 
in  parting  with  Mrs.  Morgan,  leaves  some- 
thing in  her  hand,  which,  to  the  surprise  of 
the  latter,  proves  to  be  a  ten-dollar  bill.  The 
tears  start  to  her  eyes,  and  she  conceals  the 
money  in  her  bosom — murmuring  a  fervent 
"God  bless  her!" 

A  simple  act  of  restitution  is  this  on  the 
part  of  Mrs.  Slade,  prompted  as  well  by 
humanity  as  a  sense  of  justice.  With  one 
hand  her  husband  has  taken  the  bread  from 
the  family  of  his  old  friend,  and  thus  with 
the  other  she  restores  it. 

And  now  Morgan  and  his  wife  are  alone 
with  their  sick  child.  Higher  the  fever 
rises,  and  partial  delirium  seizes  upon  her 
over-excited  brain.  She  talks  for  a  time  al- 
most incessantly.  All  her  trouble  is  about  her 
father,  and  she  is  constantly  referring  to  his 
promise  not  to  go  out  in  the  evening  until 
she  gets  well.  How  tenderly  and  touchingly 
she  appeals  to  him ;  now  looking  up  into 
his  face  in  partial  recognition,  and  now 
calling  anxiously  after  him,  as  if  he  had  left 
her  and  was  going  away. 

"  You'll  not  forget  your  promise,  will  you, 
father?"  she  says,  speaking  so  calmly  thai 
he  thinks  her  mind  has  ceased  to  wander. 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD.  7& 

*'  No,  dear ;  I  will  not  forget  it,"  he  an- 
swers, smoothing  her  hair  gently  with  his 
hand. 

"  You'll  not  go  out  in  the  evening  again, 
until  I  get  well  ?" 

"  No,  dear." 

"Father!" 

"What,  love?" 

"  Stoop  down  closer ;  I  don't  want  mother 
to  hear ;  it  will  make  her  feel  so  bad." 

The  father  bends  his  ear  close  to  the  lips 
of  Mary.  How  he  starts  and  shudders ! 
What  has  she  said?  Only  these  brief 
words : 

"  I  shall  not  got  well,  father ;  I'm  going 
to  die." 

The  groans,  impossible  to  repress,  that 
issued  through  the  lips  of  Joe  Morgan, 
startled  the  ears  of  his  wife,  and  she  came 
quickly  to  the  bedside. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  is  the  matter,  Joe  ?n 
she  inquired  with  a  look  of  anxiety. 

"Hush,  father.  Don't  tell  her.  I  only 
said  it  to  you."  And  Mary  put  a  finger  on 
her  lips,  and  looked  mysterious.  "There, 
mother — you  go  away;  you've  got  trouble 
enough,  anyhow.  Don't  tell  her,  father." 

But  the  words,  which  came  to  him  like  a 
prophecy,  awoke  such  pangs  of  fear  and 
remorse  in  the  heart  of  Joe  Morgan  that  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  repress  the  signs 
of  pain.  For  some  moments  he  gazed  at 
his  wife — then  stooping  forward,  suddenlyv 


76  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

he  buried   his   face  in  the  bedclothes  and 
sobbed  bitterly. 

A  suggestion  of  the  truth  now  flashed 
through  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Morgan,  sending 
a  thrill  of  pain  along  every  nerve.  Ere  she 
had  time  to  recover  herself,  the  low,  sweet 
voice  of  Mary  broke  upon  the  hushed  air 
of  the  room,  and  she  sung: 

"  Jesus  can  make  a  dying  bed 

Feel  soft  as  downy  pillows  are, 
While  on  his  breast  I  lean  my  head, 

And  breathe  my  life  out,  sweetly,  there." 

It  was  impossible  for  Mrs.  Morgan  longer 
to  repress  her  feelings.  As  the  softly 
breathed  strain  died  away,  her  sobs  broke 
forth,  and  for  a  time  she  wept  violently. 

"  There,"  said  the  child,—"  I  didn't  mean 
to  tell  you.  I  only  told  father,  because — 
because  he  promised  not  to  go  to  the  tavern 
any  more  until  I  got  well ;  and  I'm  not  go- 
ing to  get  well.  So,  you  see,  mother,  he'll 
never  go  again— never— never— never.  Oh 
dear  1  how  my  head  pains.  Mr.  Slade  threw 
it  so  hard.  But  it  didn't  strike  father:  and 
I'm  so  glad.  How  it  would  have  hurt  him 
— poor  father !  But  he'll  never  go  there  any 
more;  and  that  will  be  so  good,  won't  it, 
mother?" 

A  light  broke  over  her  face;  but  seeing 
that  her  mother  still  wept,  she  said  : 

"  Don't  cry.    Maybe  I'll  be  better." 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD.  77 

And  then  her  eyes  closed  heavily,  and  she 
slept  again. 

"  Joe,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan,  after  she  had  in 
a  measure  recovered  herself — she  spoke 
firmly.  "  Joe,  did  you  hear  what  she  said  ?" 

Morgan  only  answered  with  a  groan. 

"Her  mind  wanders;  and  yet  she  may 
have  spoken  only  the  truth." 

He  groaned  again. 

"  If  she  should  die,  Joe—" 

"  Don't;  oh,  don't  talk  so,  Fanny.  She's 
not  going  to  die.  It's  only  because  she's  a 
little  light-headed." 

"  Why  is  she  light-headed,  Joe  ?" 

"  It' s "the  fever— only  the  fever,  Fanny." 

"  It  was  the  blow,  and  the  wound  on  her 
head,  that  caused  the  fever.  How  do  we 
know  the  extent  of  injury  on  the  brain? 
Doctor  Green  looked  very  serious.  I'm 
afraid,  husband,  that  the  worst  is  before  us. 
I've  borne  and  suffered  a  great  deal — only 
God  knows  how  much — I  pray  that  I  may 
have  strength  to  bear  this  trial  also.  Dear 
child !  She  is  better  fitted  for  heaven  than 
for  earth,  and  it  may  be  that  God  is  about 
to  take  her  to  himself.  She's  been  a  great 
comfort  to  me — and  to  you,  Joe,  more  like 
a  guardian  angel  than  a  child." 

Mrs.  Morgan  had  tried  to  speak  very 
firmly ;  but  as  sentence  followed  sentence, 
her  voice  lost  more  and  more  of  its  even 
tone.  With  the  closing  words  all  self-con- 
trol vanished,  and  she  wept  bitterly.  What 


78  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

could  her  feeble,  erring  husband  do,  but 
weep  with  her  ? 

"Joe," — Mrs.  Morgan  aroused  herself  as 
quickly  as  possible,  for  she  had  that  to  say 
which  she  feared  she  might  not  have  the 
heart  to  utter — "  Joe,  if  Mary  dies,  you  can- 
not forget  the  cause  of  her  death." 

"  Oh,  Fanny  !    Fanny  I" 

"  Nor  the  hand  that  struck  the  cruel 
blow." 

"Forget  it?  Never!  And  if  I  forgive 
Simon  Slade— " 

"  Nor  the  place  where  the  blow  was  dealt," 
said  Mrs.  Morgan,  interrupting  him. 

"Poor — poor  child!"  moaned  the  con- 
science-stricken man. 

"  Nor  your  promise,  Joe — nor  your  prom- 
ise given  to  our  dying  child." 

"Father!  Father!  Dear  father!"  Mary's 
eyes  suddenly  unclosed,  as  she  called  her 
father  eagerly. 

"  Here  I  am,  love.  What  is  it?"  And 
Joe  Morgan  pressed  up  to  the  bedside. 

"Oh!  it's  you,  father!  I  dreamed  that 
you  had  gone  out,  and — and — but  you 
won't,  will  you,  dear  father?" 

"  No,  love— no." 

"  Never  any  more  until  I  get  well. " 

"  I  must  go  out  to  work,  you  know,  Mary." 

"  At  night,  father.  That's  what  I  mean. 
You  won't,  will  you?" 

u  No,  dear,  no." 

A  soft   smile   trembled  over  the  child's 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD.  79 

face ;  her  eyelids  drooped  wearily,  and  she 
fell  off  into  slumber  again.  She  seemed  not 
so  restless  as  before— -did  not  moan,  nor 
throw  herself  about  in  her  sleep. 

"  She's  better,  I  think,"  said  Morgan,  as 
he  bent  over  her,  and  listened  to  her  softer 
breathing. 

"  It  seems  so,"  replied  his  wife.  "  And 
now,  Joe,  you  must  go  to  bed  again.  I  will 
lie  down  here  with  Mary,  and  be  ready  to  do 
anything  for  her  that  she  may  want." 

'*'  I  don't  feel  sleepy.  I'm  sure  I  couldn't 
close  my  eyes.  So  let  me  sit  up  with  Mary. 
You  are  tired  and  worn  out." 

Mrs.  Morgan  looked  earnestly  into  her 
husband's  face.  His  eyes  were  unusually 
bright,  and  she  noticed  a  slight  nervous 
restlessness  about  his  lips.  She  laid  one  of 
her  hands  on  his,  and  perceived  a  slight 
tremor. 

"You  must  go  to  bed,"  she  spoke  firmly. 
"  I  shall  not  let  you  sit  up  with  Mary.  So 
go  at  once."  And  she  drew  him  almost  by 
force  into  the  next  room. 

"  It's  no  use,  Fanny.  There's  not  a  wink 
of  sleep  in  my  eyes.  I  shall  lie  awake  any- 
how. So  do  you  get  a  little  rest." 

Even  as  he  spoke  there  were  nervous 
twitchings  of  his  arms  and  shoulders ;  and 
as  he  entered  the  chamber,  impelled  by  hia 
wife,  he  stopped  suddenly  and  said — 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Where  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Morgan. 


80  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

"Oh,  it's  nothing — I  see.  Only  one  of 
my  old  boots.  I  thought  it  a  great  black 
cat." 

Oh !  what  a  shudder  of  despair  seized  upon 
the  heart  of  the  wretched  wife.  Too  well 
she  knew  the  fearful  signs  of  that  terrible 
madness  from  which,  twice  before,  he  had 
suffered.  She  could  have  looked  on  calmly 
and  see  him  die — but,  "  Not  this — not  this ! 
Oh,  Father  in  heaven!"  she  murmured,  with 
such  a  heart-sinking  that  it  seemed  as  if 
life  itself  would  go  out. 

"  Get  into  bed,  Joe ;  get  into  bed  as  quickly 
as  possible." 

Morgan  was  now  passive  in  the  hands  of 
his  wife,  and  obe}red  her  almost  like  a  child. 
He  had  turned  down  the  bedclothes,  and 
was  about  getting  in,  when  he  started  back 
with  a  look  of  disgust  and  alarm. 

"  There's  nothing  there,  Joe.  What's  the 
matter  with  you  ?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  Fanny,"  and  his 
teeth  rattled  together  as  he  spoke.  "  I 
thought  there  was  a  great  toad  under  the 
clothes." 

"  How  foolish  you  are !" — yet  tears  were 
blinding  her  eyes  as  she  said  this.  "  It's 
only  fancy.  Get  into  bed  and  shut  your 
eyes.  I'll  make  you  another  cup  of  strong 
coffee.  Perhaps*  that  will  do  you  good. 
You're  only  a  little  nervous.  Mary's  sick- 
ness has  disturbed  you." 

Joe    looked    cautiously  under    the  bed- 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD.  81 

clothes,  as  he  lifted  them  up  still  farther, 
and  peered  beneath, 

"  You  know  there's  nothing  in  your  bed ; 
see!" 

And  Mrs.  Morgan  threw,  with  a  single 
jerk,  all  the  clothes  upon  the  floor. 

"  There  now  I  look  for  yourself.  Now, 
shut  your  eyes,"  she  continued,  as  she  spread 
the  sheet  and  quilt  over  him,  after  his  head 
was  on  the  pillow.  "  Shut  them  tight  and 
keep  them  so  until  I  boil  the  water  and 
make  a  cup  of  coffee.  You  know  as  well  as 
I  do  that  it's  nothing  but  fancy." 

Morgan  closed  his  eyes  firmly,  and  drew 
the  clothes  over  his  head. 

"  I'll  be  back  in  a  very  few  minutes,"  said 
his  wife,  going  hurriedly  to  the  door.  Ere 
leaving,  however,  she  partly  turned  her  head 
and  glanced  back.  There  sat  her  husband, 
upright  and  staring  fearfully. 

"  Don't,  Fanny  !  don't  go  away!"  he  cried, 
in  a  frightened  voice. 

"  Joe^l  Joe !  why  will  you  be  so  foolish  ? 
It's  nothing  but  imagination.  Now  do  lie 
down  and  shut  your  eyes.  Keep  them  shut. 
There  now." 

And  she  laid  a  hand  over  his  eyes,  and 
pressed  it  down  tightly. 

"  I  wish  Doctor  Green  was  here,"  said  the 
wretched  man.  "  He  could  give  me  some- 
thing." 

"  Shall  I  go  for  him  ?" 

"Go,  Fanny!     Run  over  right  quickly." 


82  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 


"  But  you  won't  keep  in  bed." 

"  Yes,  I  will.  There  now."  And  he  drew 
the  clothes  over  his  face.  "  There  ;  I'll  lie 
just  so  until  you  come  back.  Now  run, 
Fanny,  and  don't  stay  a  minute." 

Scarcely  stopping  to  think,  Mrs.  Morgan 
went  hurriedly  from  the  room,  and  drawing 
an  old  shawl  over  her  head,  started  with 
swift  feet  for  the  residence  of  Doctor  Green, 
which  was  not  very  far  away.  The  kind 
doctor  understood  at  a  word  the  sad  condi- 
tion of  her  husband,  and  promised  to  attend 
him  immediately.  Back  she  flew  at  even  a 
wilder  speed,  her  heart  throbbing  with  vague 
apprehension.  Oh !  what  a  fearful  cry  was 
that  which  smote  her  ears  as  she  came 
within  a  few  paces  of  home.  She  knew  the 
voice,  changed  as  it  was  by  terror,  and  a 
shudder  almost  palsied  her  heart.  At  a 
single  bound  she  cleared  the  intervening 
space,  and  in  the  next  moment  was  in  the 
room  where  she  had  left  her  husband.  But 
he  was  not  there  !  With  suspended  breath, 
and  feet  that  scarcely  obeyed  her  will,  she 
passed  into  the  chamber  where  little  Mary 
lay.  Not  here ! 

"  Joe  !  husband !"  she  called  in  a  faint 
voice. 

"  Here  he  is,  mother."  And  now  she  saw 
that  Joe  had  crept  into  the  bed  behind  the 
sick  child,  and  that  her  arm  was  drawn 
tightly  around  his  neck. 

"  You  won't  let  them  hurt  me,  will  you, 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD.  83 

dear?"  said  the  poor,  frightened  victim  of  a 
terrible  mania. 

"  Nothing  will  hurt  you,  father,"  answered 
Mary,  in  a  voice  that  showed  her  mind  to  be 
clear,  and  fully  conscious  of  her  parent's 
true  condition. 

She  had  seen  him  thus  before.  Ah !  what 
an  experience  for  a  child  ! 

"  You  are  an  angel  —  my  good  angel, 
Mary,"  he  murmured  in  a  voice  yet  trem- 
bling with  fear.  "  Pray  for  me,  my  child. 
Oh,  ask  your  Father  in  heaven  to  save  me 
from  these  dreadful  creatures.  There  now !" 
he  cried,  rising  up  suddenly,  and  looking 
toward  the  door.  "Keep  out!  Go  away  I 
You  can't  come  in  here.  This  is  Mary's 
room  ;  and  she's  an  angel.  Ah,  ha !  I  knew 
you  wouldn't  dare  come  in  here — 

"A  single  saint  can  put  to  flight 
Ten  thousand  blustering  sons  of  night," 

he  added  in  a  half-wandering  way,  yet  with 
an  assured  voice,  as  he  laid  himself  back 
upon  his  pillow,  and  drew  the  clothes  over 
his  head. 

"Poor  father!"  sighed  the  child,  as  she 
gathered  both  arms  about  his  neck.  "  I 
will  be  your  good  angel.  Nothing  shall 
hurt  you  here." 

u  I  knew  I  would.be  safe  where  you  were," 
he  whispered  back — "  I  knew  it,  and  so  I 
came.  Kiss  me,  love." 


84  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  EAR-ROOM. 

How  pure  and  fervent  was  the  kiss  laid 
instantly  upon  his  lips !  There  was  a  power 
in  it  to  remand  the  evil  influences  that  were 
surrounding  and  pressing  in  upon  him  like 
a  flood.  All  was  quiet  now,  and  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan neither  by  word  nor  movement  disturbed 
the  solemn  stillness  that  reigned  in  the  apart- 
ment. In  a  few  minutes  the  deepened 
breathing  of  her  husband  gave  a  blessed  in- 
timation that  he  was  sinking  into  sleep. 
Oh,  sleep !  sleep  !  How  tearfully,  in  times 
past,  had  she  prayed  that  he  might  sleep; 
and  yet  no  sleep  came  for  hours  and  days — 
even  though  powerful  opiates  were  given — 
until  exhausted  nature  yielded ;  and  then 
sleep  had  a  long,  long  struggle  with  death. 
Now  the  sphere  of  his  loving,  innocent  child 
seemed  to  have  overcome,  at  least  for  the 
time,  the  evil  influences  that  were  getting 
possession  even  of  his  external  senses.  Yes, 
yes.  he  was  sleeping !  Oh,  what  a  fervent 
"Thank  God!"  went  up  from  the  heart  of 
his  stricken  wife. 

Soon  the  quick  ears  of  Mrs.  Morgan  de- 
tected the  doctor's  approaching  footsteps, 
and  she  met  him  at  the  door  with  a  finger  on 
her  lips.  A  whispered  word  or  two  ex- 
plained the  better  aspect  of  affairs,  and  the 
doctor  said,  encouragingly, 

"  That's  good,  if  he  will  only  sleep  on." 

"Do  you  think  he  will,  doctor?"  was 
asked,  anxiously. 

"He   may.      But    we   cannot    hope  to? 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD.  85 

strongly.  It  would  be  something  very  un- 
usual." 

Both  passed  noiselessly  into  the  chamber. 
Morgan  still  slept,  and  by  his  deep  breathing 
it  was  plain  that  he  slept  soundly.  And 
Mary,  too,  was  sleeping,  her  face  now  laid 
against  her  father's,  and  her  arms  still  about 
his  neck.  The  sight  touched  even  the  doc- 
tor's heart  and  moistened  his  eyes.  For 
nearly  half  an  hour  he  remained  ;  and  then, 
as  Morgan  continued  to  sleep,  he  left  medi- 
cine to  be  given  immediately,  and  went 
home,  promising  to  call  early  in  the  morning. 

It  is  now  past  midnight,  and  we  leave  the 
lonely,  sad-hearted  watcher  with  her  sick 


I  was  sitting,  with  a  newspaper  in  my 
hand — not  reading,  but  musing — at  the 
"Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  late  in  the  evening 
marked  by  the  incidents  just  detailed. 

"Where's  your  mother?"  I  heard  Simon 
Slade  inquire.  He  had  just  entered  an  ad- 
joining room. 

"She's  gone  out  somewhere,"  was  an- 
swered by  his  daughter  Flora. 

"  Where  ?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  How  long  has  she  been  away  ?" 

"  More  than  an  hour." 

"And  you  don't  know  where  she  went 
to?" 


86  TUN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

"  No,  sir." 

Nothing  more  was  said,  but  I  heard  the 
landlord's  heavy  feet  moving  backward  and 
forward  across  the  room  for  some  minutes. 

"  Why,  Ann  I  where  have  you  been  ?" 
The  door  of  the  next  room  had  opened  and 
shut. 

"  Where  I  wish  you  had  been  with  me," 
was  answered  in  a  very  firm  voice. 

"Where?" 

"  To  Joe  Morgan's." 

"Humph!"  Only  this  ejaculation  met 
my  ears.  But  something  was  said  in  a  low 
voice,  to  which  Mrs.  Slade  replied  with  some 
warmth, 

"  If  you  don't  have  his  child's  blood  cling- 
ing for  life  to  your  garments,  you  may  be 
thankful." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

"  All  that  my  words  indicate.  Little  Mary 
is  very  ill!"  ' 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"  Much.  The  doctor  thinks  her  in  great 
danger.  The  cut  on  her  head  has  thrown 
her  into  a  violent  fever,  and  she  is  delirious. 
Oh,  Simon !  if  you  had  heard  what  I  heard 
to-night." 

"  What?"  was  asked,  in  a  growling  tone. 

"  She  is  out  of  her  mind,  as  I  said,  and 
talks  a  great  deal.  She  talked  about  you." 

"  Of  me !  Well,  what  had  she  to  say  ?" 

"  She  said  —so  pitifully—'  I  wish  Mr.  Slade 
wouldn't  look  so  cross  at  me.  He  never  did 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD.  87 

when  I  went  to  the  mill.  He  doesn't  take 
me  on  his  knee  now,  and  stroke  my  hair. 
Oh  dear!'  Poor  child  !  She  was  always  so 
good." 

"Did  she  say  that?"  Slade  seemed 
touched. 

"  Yes,  and  a  great  deal  more.  Once  she 
screamed  out,  '  Oh  don't,  don't,  Mr.  Slade  1 
don't!  My  head!  my  head !'  It  made  my 
very  heart  ache.  I  can  never  forget  her  pale, 
frightened  face,  nor  her  cry  of  fear.  Simon — • 
if  she  should  die!" 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"  If  we  were  only  back  to  the  mill."  It 
was  Mrs.  Slade's  voice. 

"  There,  now !  I  don't  want  to  hear  that 
again,"  quickly  spoke  out  the  landlord.  "  I 
made  a  slave  of  myself  long  enough." 

"  You  had  at  least  a  clear  conscience,"  his 
wife  answered. 

"  Do  hush,  will  you !"  Slade  was  now 
angry.  "  One  would  think,  by  the  way  you 
talk  sometimes,  that  I  had  broken  every 
command  of  the  Decalogue." 

"You  will  break  hearts  as  well  as  Com- 
mandments, if  you  keep  on  for  a  few  years 
as  you  have  begun — and  ruin  souls  as  well 
as  fortunes." 

Mrs.  Slade  spoke  calmly,  but  with  marked 
severity  of  tone.  Her  husband  answered 
with  an  oath,  and  then  left  the  room,  bang- 
ing the  door  after  him.  In  the  hush  that 
foPowed  I  retired  ti  my  chamber,  and  lay 


88  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BA  E-ROOM. 

for  an  hour  awake,  pondering  on  all  I  had 
just  heard.  What  a  revelation  was  in  that 
brief  passage  of  words  between  the  landlord 
and  his  excited  companion  1 


NIGHT    THE    FOURTH. 

Death  of  Little  Mary  Morgan. 

"WHERE  are  you  going,  Ann?"  It  was 
the  landlord's  voice.  Time — a  little  after 
dark. 

"I'm  going  over  to  see  Mrs.  Morgan," 
answered  his  wife. 

"What  for?" 

"  I  wish  to  go,"  was  replied. 

"  Well,  /  don't  wish  you  to  go,"  said  Slade, 
in  a  very  decided  way. 

"I  can't  help  that,  Simon.  Mary,  I'm 
told,  is  dying,  and  Joe  is  in  a  dreadful  way. 
I'm  needed  there — and  so  are  you,  as  to 
that  matter.  There  was  a  time  when,  if 
word  came  to  you  that  Morgan  or  his  family 
were  in  trouble — " 

''  Do  hush,  will  you  ?"  exclaimed  the  land- 
lord, angrily.  "  I  won't  be  preached  to  in 
this  way  any  longer." 

"Oh,  well;  then  don't  interfere  with  my 
movements,  Simon  ;  that's  all  I  have  to  say. 
I'm  needed  over  there,  as  I  just  said,  and 
I'm  going." 

There  were  considerable  odds  against  him, 
and  Slade,  perceiving  this,  turned  off,  mut- 
tering something  that  his  wife  did  not  hear, 
and  she  went  on  her  way.  A  hurried  walk 

(89) 


90  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-BOOM. 

brought  her  to  the  wretched  home  of  the 
poor  drunkard,  whose  wife  met  her  at  the 
door. 

"  How  is  Mary  ?"  was  the  visitor's  earnest 
inquiry. 

Mrs.  Morgan  tried  to  answer  the  question ; 
but,  though  her  lips  moved,  no  sounds  issued 
therefrom. 

Mrs.  Slade  pressed  her  hands  tightly  in 
both  of  hers,  and  then  passed  in  with  her 
to  the  room  where  the  child  lay.  A  glance 
sufficed  to  tell  Mrs.  Slade  that  Death  had 
already  laid  his  icy  fingers  upon  her  brow. 

"  How  are  you,  dear?"  she  asked,  as  she 
bent  over  and  kissed  her. 

"  Better,  I  thank  you,"  replied  Mary,  in  a 
low  whisper. 

Then  she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  her  mother's 
face,  with  a  look  of  inquiry. 

"What  is  it,  love?" 

"  Hasn't  father  waked  up  yet?" 

"  No,  dear." 

"  Won't  he  wake  up  soon  ?" 

"  He's  sleeping  very  soundly.  I  wouldn't 
like  to  disturb  him." 

"  Oh,  no ;  don't  disturb  him.  I  thought, 
maybe,  he  was  awake." 

And  the  child's  lids  drooped  languidly, 
until  the  long  lashes  lay  close  against  her 
cheeks. 

There  was  silence  for  a  little  while,  and 
then  Mrs.  Morgan  said,  in  a  half-whisper  to 
Mrs.  Slade : 


NIGHT  THE  FOURTH.  91 

"  Oh,  we've  had  such  a  dreadful  time  with 
poor  Joe.  He  got  in  that  terrible  way  again 
last  night.  I  had  to  go  for  Doctor  Green 
and  leave  him  all  alone.  When  I  came 
back,  he  was  in  bed  with  Mary;  and  she, 
dear  child  !  had  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
and  was  trying  to  comfort  him  ;  and  would 
you  believe  it,  he  went  off  to  sleep,  and 
slept  in  that  way  for  a  long  time.  The  doc- 
tor came,  and  when  he  saw  how  it  was,  left 
some  medicine  for  him,  and  went  away.  I 
was  in  such  hopes  that  he  would  sleep  it  all 
off.  But  about  twelve  o'clock  he  started  up, 
and  sprung  out  of  bed  with  an  awful  scream. 
Poor  Mary !  she  too  had  fallen  asleep.  The 
cry  wakened  her,  and  frightened  her  dread- 
fully. She's  been  getting  worse  ever  since, 
Mrs.  Slade. 

"  Just  as  he  was  rushing  out  of  the  room 
I  caught  him  by  the  arm,  and  it  took  all  my 
strength  to  hold  him. 

" '  Father !  father !'  Mary  called  after  him, 
as  soon  as  she  was  awake  enough  to  under- 
stand what  was  the  matter — '  Don't  go  out, 
father1,  there's  nothing  here.' 

"  He  looked  back  toward  the  bed,  in  a 
frightful  way. 

"  *  See,  father !'  and  the  dear  child  turned 
down  the  quilt  and  sheet,  in  order  to  con- 
vince him  that  nothing  was  in  the  bed. 
4  I'm  here,'  she  added.  '  I'm  not  afraid. 
Come,  father.  If  there's  nothing  here  to 
hurt  me,  there's  nothing  to  hurt  you.' 


92  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-BOOM. 

"  There  was  something  so  assuring  in  this, 
that  Joe  took  a  step  or  two  toward  the  bed, 
looking  sharply  into  it  as  he  did  so.  From 
the  bed  his  eyes  wandered  up  to  the  ceiling, 
and  the  old  look  of  terror  came  into  his 
face. 

" '  There  it  is  now !  Jump  out  of  bed,  quick ! 
Jump  out,  Mary  !'  he  cried.  '  See !  it's  right 
over  your  head." 

u  Mary  showed  no  sign  of  fear  as  she  lifted 
her  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  and  gazed  steadily, 
for  a  few  moments,  in  that  direction. 

" '  There's  nothing  there,  father,'  said  she, 
in  a  confident  voice. 

'"It's  gone  now,'  Joe  spoke  in  a  tone  of 
relief.  '  Your  angel-look  drove  it  away. 
Aha!  There  it  is  now,  creeping  along  the 
floor!  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  fearfully, 
starting  away  from  where  he  stood. 

"'Here,  father!  Here!'  Mary  called  to 
him,  and  he  sprung  into  the  bed  again; 
while  she  gathered  her  arms  about  him 
tightly,  saying,  in  a  low,  soothing  voice — 
*  Nothing  can  harm  you  here,  father.' 

"  Without  a  moment's  delay,  I  gave  him 
the  morphine  left  by  Doctor  Green.  He  took 
it  eagerly,  and  then  crouched  down  in  the 
bed,  while  Mary  continued  to  assure  him  of 
perfect  safety.  So  long  as  he  was  clearly 
conscious  as  to  where  he  was,  he  remained 
perfectly  still.  But,  as  soon  as  partial  slum- 
ber came,  he  would  scream  out,  and  spring 
from  the  bed  in  terror,  and  then  it  would 


NIGHT  THE  FOURTH.  93 

take  us  several  minutes  to  quiet  him  again. 
Six  times  during  the  night  did  this  occur ; 
and  as  often,  Mary  coaxed  him  back.  The 
morphine  I  continued  to  give,  as  the  doctor 
had  directed.  By  morning  the  opiates  had 
done  their  work,  and  he  was  sleeping 
soundly.  WThen  the  doctor  came,  we  re- 
moved him  to  his  own  bed.  He  is  still 
asleep ;  and  I  begin  to  fell  uneasy,  lest  he 
should  never  awake  again.  I  have  heard  of 
this  happening." 

"See  if  father  isn't  awake,"  said  Mary, 
raising  her  head  from  the  pillow.  She  had 
not  heard  what  passed  between  her  mother 
and  Mrs.  Slade,  for  the  conversation  was  car- 
ried on  in  low  voices. 

Mrs.  Morgan  stepped  to  the  door,  and 
looked  into  the  room  where  her  husband  lay. 

"  He  is  still  asleep,  dear,"  she  remarked, 
coming  back  to  the  bed. 

"Oh!  I  wish  he  was  awake.  I  want  to 
see  him  so  much.  Won't  you  call  him, 
mother?" 

"  I  have  called  him  a  good  many  times. 
But  you  know  the  doctor  gave  him  opium. 
He  can't  wake  up  yet." 

"He's  been  sleeping  a  very  long  timej 
don't  you  think  so,  mother?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  it  does  seem  a  long  time.  But 
it's  best  for  him.  He'll  be  better  when  he 
wakes." 

Mary  closed  her  eyes,  wearily.  How 
deathly  white  was  her  face — how  sunken 


94  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  SAB-BOOM. 

her  eyes — how  sharply  contracted  her  feat- 
ures I 

"  I've  given  her  up,  Mrs.  Slade,"  said  Mrs. 
Morgan,  in  a  low,  rough,  choking  whisper, 
as  she  leaned  nearer  to  her  friend.  "  I've 
given  her  up!  The  worst  is  over;  but,  oh! 
it  seemed  as  though  my  heart  would  break 
in  the  struggle.  Dear  child !  In  all  the 
darkness  of  my  way,  she  has  helped  and 
comforted  me.  Without  her,  it  would  have 
been  the  blackness  of  darkness." 

''Father!  father!"  The  voice  of  Mary 
broke  out  with  a  startling  quickness. 

Mrs.  Morgan  turned  to  the  bed,  and  laying 
her  hand  on  Mary's  arm  said — 

"He's  still  sound  asleep,  dear." 

"  No,  he  isn't,  mother.  I  heard  him  move. 
Won't  you  go  in  and  see  if  he  is  awake  ?" 

In  order  to  satisfy  the  child,  her  mother 
left  the  room.  To  her  surprise,  she  met  the 
eyes  of  her  husband  as  she  entered  the 
chamber  where  he  lay.  He  looked  at  her 
calmly. 

"What  does  Mary  want  with  me?"  he 
asked. 

"She  wishes  to  see  you.  She's  called  you 
so  many,  many  times.  Shall  I  bring  her  in 
here?" 

44  No.     I'll  get  up  and  dress  myself." 

"  I  wouldn't  do  that.     You've  been  sick." 

"  Oh,  no.     I  don't  feel  sick." 

"Father!  father!"  The  clear,  earnest  voice 
of  Mary  was  heard  calling. 


NIGHT  THE  FOVK^s:.  95 

"I'm  coming,  dear,"  answered  Morgan. 

"Come  quick,  father,  won't  you?'' 

"Yes,  love."  And  Morgan  got  up  and 
dressed  himself — but  with  unsteady  hands, 
and  every  sign  of  nervous  prostration.  In  a 
little  while,  with  the  assistance  of  his  wife, 
he  was  ready,  and,  supported  by  her,  came 
tottering  into  the  room  where  Mary  was 
lying. 

"Oh,  father!"— What  a  light  broke  over 
her  countenance — "  I've  been  waiting  for 
you  so  long.  I  thought  you  were  never 
going  to  wake  up.  Kiss  me,  father." 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mary  ?"  asked 
Morgan,  tenderly,  as  he  laid  his  face  down 
upon  the  pillow  beside  her. 

"  Nothing,  father.  I  don't  wish  for  any- 
thing. I  only  wanted  to  see  you." 

"  I'm  here,  now,  love." 

"Dear  father!"  How  earnestly,  yet  ten- 
derly she  spoke,  laying  her  small  hand  upon 
his  face.  You've  always  been  good  to  me, 
father." 

"  Oh,  no.  I've  never  been  good  to  any- 
body," sobbed  the  weak,  broken-spirited 
man,  as  he  raised  himself  from  the  pillow. 

How  deeply  touched  was  Mrs.  Slade,  as 
she  sat,  the  silent  witness  of  this  scene! 

"  You  haven't  been  good  to  yourself,  father 
— but  you've  always  been  good  to  us." 

"  Don't,  Mary !  don't  say  anything  about 
that,"  interposed  Morgan.  "Say  that  I've 
been  very  bad— very  wicked.  Oh,  Mary, 


96  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

dear!  I  only  wish  that  I  was  as  good  as 
you  are ;  I'd  like  to  die,  then,  and  go  right 
away  from  this  evil  world.  I  wish  there  was 
no  liquor  to  drink — no  taverns — no  bar- 
rooms. Oh  dear !  Oh  dear !  I  wish  I  was 
dead." 

And  the  weak,  trembling,  half-palsied  man 
laid  his  face  again  upon  the  pillow  beside 
his  child  and  sobbed  aloud. 

What  an  oppressive  silence  reigned  for  a 
time  through  the  room  ! 

"  Father."  The  stillness  was  broken  by 
Mary.  Her  voice  was  clear  and  even. 
"  Father,  I  want  to  tell  you  something." 

"  What  is  it,  Mary  ?" 

"  There'll  be  nobody  to  go  for  you,  father." 
The  child's  lips  now  quivered,  and  tears 
filled  into  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  talk  about  that,  Mary.  I  am  not 
going  out  in  the  evening  any  more  until  you 
get  well.  Don't  you  remember  I  prom- 
ised?" 

"  But,  father  "—She  hesitated. 

"What,  dear?" 

"  I'm  going  away  to  leave  you  and 
mother." 

"Oh,  no — no — no,  Mary!  Don't  say 
that" — the  poor  man's  voice  was  broken. 
"Don't  say  that!  We  can't  let  you  go, 
dear." 

"  God  has  called  me."  The  child's  voice 
had  a  solemn  tone,  and  her  eyes  turned  rev- 
erently upward. 


NIGHT  THE  FOURTH.  97 

"  I  wish  he  would  call  me  !  Oh,  I  wish  he 
would  call  me !"  groaned  Morgan,  hiding  his 
face  in  his  hands.  "  What  shall  I  do  when 
you  are  gone?  Oh  dear  !  Oh  dear  !" 

"  Father !' '  Mary  spoke  calmly  again. 
"  You  are  not  ready  to  go  yet.  God  will  let 
you  live  here  longer,  that  you  may  get 
ready." 

"  How  can  I  get  ready  without  you  to 
help  me,  Mary?  My  angel  child  !" 

"  Haven't  I  tried  to  help  you,  father,  oh, 
so  many  times?"  said  Mary. 

"Yes — yes — you've  always  tried. 

"  But  it  wasn't  any  use.  You  would  go 
out — you  would  go  to  the  tavern.  It  seemed 
almost  as  if  you  couldn't  help  it." 

Morgan  groaned  in  spirit. 

"Maybe  I  can  help  you  better,  father, 
after  I  die.  I  love  you  so  much,  that  I  am 
sure  God  will  let  me  come  to  you,  and  stay 
with  you  always,  and  be  your  angel.  Don't 
you  think  he  will,  mother?" 

But  Mrs.  Morgan's  heart  was  too  full.  She 
did  not  even  try  to  answer,  but  sat,  with 
streaming  eyes,  gazing  upon  her  child1  s 
face. 

"Father,  I  dreamed  something  about 
you,  while  I  slept  to-day."  Mary  again 
turned  to  her  father. 

"What  was  it,  dear?" 

"  I  thought  it  was  night,  and  that  I  was 
still  sick.  You  promised  not  to  go  out  again 
until  I  was  well.  But  you  did  go  out ;  and 
D 


98  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

I  thought  you  went  over  to  Mr.  Slade'a 
tavern.  When  I  knew  this,  I  felt  as  strong 
as  when  I  was  well,  and  I  got  up  and  dressed 
myself,  and  started  out  after  you.  But  I 
hadn't  gone  far,  before  I  met  Mr.  Slade's 
great  bull-dog  Nero,  and  he  growled  at  me 
so  dreadfully  that  I  was  frightened  and  ran 
back  home.  Then  I  started  again,  and  went 
away  round  by  Mr.  Mason's.  But  there  was 
Nero  in  the  road,  and  this  time  he  caught 
my  dress  in  his  mouth  and  tore  a  great  piece 
out  of  the  skirt.  I  ran  back  again,  and  he 
chased  me  all  the  way  home.  Just  as  I  got 
to  the  door,  I  looked  around,  and  there  was 
Mr.  Slade,  setting  Nero  on  me.  As  soon  as 
I  saw  Mr.  Slade,  though  he  looked  at  me 
very  wicked,  I  lost  all  my  fear,  and  turning 
around,  I  walked  past  Nero,  who  showed  his 
teeth,  and  growled  as  fiercely  as  ever,  but 
didn't  touch  me.  Then  Mr.  Slade  tried  to 
stop  me.  But  I  didn't  mind  him,  and  kept 
right  on,  until  I  came  to  the  tavern,  and 
there  you  stood  in  the  door.  And  you  were 
dressed  so  nice.  You  had  on  a  new  hat  and 
a  new  coat;  and  your  boots  were  new,  and 
polished  just  like  Judge  Hammond's.  I 
said— '0  father!  is  this  you?'  And  then 
you  took  me  up  in  your  arms  and  kissed  me, 
and  said — '  Yes,  Mary,  I  am  your  real  father. 
Not  old  Joe  Morgan — but  Mr.  Morgan  now.' 
It  seemed  all  so  strange,  that  I  looked  into 
the  bar-room  to  see  who  was  there.  But  it 
Wasn't  a  bar-room  any  longer,  but  a  store 


NIGHT  THE  FOURTH.  9tf 

full  of  goods.  The  sign  of  the  Sickle  and 
Sheaf  was  taken  down  ;  and  over  the  door  I 
now  read  your  name,  father.  Oh  !  I  was  BO 
glad,  that  I  awoke — and  then  I  cried  all  to 
myself,  for  it  was  only  a  dream." 

The  last  words  were  said  very  mornfully, 
and  with  a  drooping  of  Mary's  lids,  until 
the  tear-gemmed  lashes  lay  close  upon  her 
cheeks.  Another  period  of  deep  silence  fol- 
lowed— for  the  oppressed  listeners  gave  na 
utterance  to  what  was  in  their  hearts.  Feel- 
ing was  too  strong  for  speech.  Nearly  five 
minutes  glided  away,  and  then  Mary  whis- 
pered the  name  of  her  father,  but  without 
opening  her  eyes. 

Morgan  answered  and  bent  down  his  ear. 

"You  will  only  have  mother  left,"  she 
said — "  only  mother.  And  she  cries  so  much 
when  you  are  away." 

"  I  won't  leave  her,  Mary,  only  when  I  go- 
to work,"  said  Morgan,  whispering  back  to- 
the  child.  "  And  I'll  never  go  out  at  night 
any  more." 

"  Yes  ;  you  promised  me  that." 

"And  I'll  promise  more." 

"What,  father?" 

"  Never  to  go  into  a  tavern  again." 

"Never?" 

"  No,  never.  And  I'll  promise  still 
more." 

"Father!" 

"  Never  to  drink  a  drop  of  liquor  as  long 
as  I  live." 


100  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

"  Oh,  father !  dear,  dear  father  !"  And  with 
&  cry  of  joy  Mary  started  up  and  flung  her- 
self upon  his  breast.  Morgan  drew  his  arms 
tightly  around  her,  and  sat  for  a  long  time, 
with  his  lips  pressed  to  her  cheek — while  she 
lay  against  his  bosom  as  still  as  death.  As 
death  ?  Yes ;  for,  when  the  father  unclasped 
his  arms,  the  spirit  of  his  child  was  with  the 
angels  of  the  resurrection ! 

It  was  my  fourth  evening  in  the  bar-room 
of  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf."  The  company 
was  not  large,  nor  in  very  gay  spirits.  All 
had  heard  of  little  Mary's  illness,  which 
followed  so  quickly  on  the  blow  from  the 
tumbler,  that  none  hesitated  about  connect- 
ing the  one  with  the  other.  So  regular  had 
been  the  child's  visits,  and  so  gently  exerted, 
yet  powerful,  her  influence  over  her  father, 
that  most  of  the  frequenters  at  the  "  Sickle 
and  Sheaf  had  felt  for  her  a  more  than 
common  interest,  which  the  cruel  treat- 
ment she  received,  and  the  subsequent  ill- 
ness, materially  heightened. 

"  Joe  Morgan  hasn't  turned  up  this  even- 
ing," remarked  some  one. 

"  And  isn't  likely  to  for  a  while,"  was  an- 
swered. 

"  Why  not  ?"  inquired  the  first  speaker. 

"  They  say,  the  man  with  the  poker  is 
after  him." 

"Oh,  dear!  that's  dreadful.  It's  the  sec- 
ond or  third  chase,  isn't  it?" 


NIGHT  THE  FOURTH.  101 

"Yes." 

"  He'll  be  likely  to  catch  him  this  time." 
"I  shouldn't  wonder." 
"Poor devil!     It  won't  be  much  matter. 
His  family  will  be  a  great  deal  better  with- 
out him." 

"  It  will  be  a  blessing  to  them  if  he  dies." 

"  Miserable,  drunken   wretch  !"  muttered 

Harvey   Green,  who  was    present.    "  He's 

only  in  the  way  of  everybody.     The  sooner 

he's  off,  the  better." 

The  landlord  said  nothing.  He  stood 
leaning  across  the  bar,  looking  more  sober 
than  usual. 

"  That  was  rather  an  unlucky  affair  of 
yours,  Simon.  They  say  the  child  is  going 
to  die." 

"  Who  says  so?"    Slade  started,  scowled, 
and  threw  a  quick  glance  upon  the  speaker. 
"  Doctor  Green." 

"  Nonsense !  Doctor  Green  never  said  ?  ay 
such  thing." 

"  Yes,  he  did,  though." 
"Who  heard  him?" 
"  I  did." 
"You  did?" 
"Yes." 

"  He  wasn't  in  earnest."  A  jlight  pale- 
ness overspread  the  countenance  of  the  land- 
lord. 

"  He  was,  though.     They  had  an  awful 
time  there  last  night." 
"Where?" 


102  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

"  At  Joe  Morgan's.  Joe  has  the  mania, 
and  Mrs.  Morgan  was  alone  with  him  and 
her  sick  girl  all  night." 

''He  deserves  to  have  it;  that's  all  I've 
.got  to  say."  Slade  tried  to  speak  with  a 
kind  of  rough  indifference. 

"  That's  pretty  hard  talk,"  said  one  of  the 
company. 

"  I  don't  care  if  it  is.  It's  the  truth.  What 
•else  could  he  expect?" 

"  A  man  like  Joe  is  to  be  pitied,"  remarked 
the  other. 

"  I  pity  his  family,"  said  Slade. 

"  Especially  little'Mary."  The  words  were 
uttered  tauntingly,  and  produced  murmurs 
of  satisfaction  throughout  the  room. 

Slade  started  back  from  where  he  stood,  in 
an  impatient  manner,  saying  something  that 
I  did  not  hear. 

"  Look  here,  Simon,  I  heard  some  strong 
suggestions  over  at  Lawyer  Phillips'  office 
to-day." 

Slade  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  speaker. 

"  If  that  child  should  die,  you'll  probably 
have  to  stand  a  trial  for  manslaughter." 

"  No — girl-slaughter,"  said  Harvey  Green, 
with  a  cold,  inhuman  chuckle. 

"  But,  I'm  in  earnest,"  said  the  other. 
"  Mr.  Phillips  said  that  a  case  could  be  made 
out  of  it."  ' 

"  It  was  only  an  accident,  and  all  the  law- 
yers in  Christendom  can't  make  anything 
more  of  it,"  remarked  Green,  taking  the  side 


NIGHT  THE  FOURTH.  103 

of  the  landlord,  and  speaking  with  more 
gravity  than  before. 

"Hardly  an  accident,"  was  replied. 

"  He  didn't  throw  at  the  girl." 

"  No  matter.  He  threw  a  heavy  tumbler 
at  her  father's  head.  The  intention  was  to 
do  an  injury,  and  the  law  will  not  stop  to 
make  any  nice  discriminations  in  regard  to 
the  individual  upon  whom  the  injury  was 
wrought.  Moreover,  who  is  prepared  to  say 
that  he  didn't  aim  at  the  girl?" 

"  Any  man  who  intimates  such  a  thing  is 
a  cursed  liar!"  exclaimed  the  landlord,  half- 
maddened  by  the  suggestion. 

"  I  won't  throw  a  tumbler  at  your  head," 
coolly  remarked  the  individual  whose  plain 
speaking  had  so  irritated  Simon  Slade. 
"  Throwing  tumblers  I  never  thought  a  very 
creditable  kind  of  argument — though,  with 
some  men,  when  cornered,  it  is  a  favorable 
mode  of  settling  a  question.  Now,  as  for 
our  friend  the  landlord,  I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  his  new  business  doesn't  seem  to  have 
improved  either  his  manners  or  his  temper  a 
great  deal.  As  a  miller,  he  was  one  of  the 
best-tempered  men  in  the  world,  and 
wouldn't  have  harmed  a  kitten.  But  now 
he  can  swear,  and  bluster,  and  throw  glasses 
at  people's  heads,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
with  the  best  of  brawling  rowdies.  I'm 
afraid  he's  taking  lessons  in  a  bad  school — 
I  am." 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  any  right  to  insult 


104  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

a  man  in  his  own  house,"  answered  Slade, 
in  a  voice  dropped  to  a  lower  key  than  the 
one  in  which  he  had  before  spoken. 

"  I  had  no  intention  to  insult  you,"  said 
the  other.  "  I  was  only  speaking  suppositi- 
tiously,  and  in  view  of  your  position  on  a 
trial  for  manslaughter,  when  I  suggested  that 
no  one  could  prove,  or  say,  that  you  didn't 
mean  to  strike  little  Mary  when  you  threw 
the  tumbler." 

"  Well,  I  didn't  mean  to  strike  her;  and  I 
don't  believe  there  is  a  man  in  this  bar  room 
who  thinks  that  I  did — not  one." 

"  I'm  sure  I  do  not,"  said  the  individual 
with  whom  he  was  in  controversy.  "Nor 
I " — "  Nor  I " — went  round  the  room. 

"  But,  as  I  wished  to  set  forth,"  was  con- 
tinued, "  the  case  will  not  be  so  plain  a  one 
when  it  finds  its  way  into  court,  and  twelve 
men,  to  each  of  whom  you  may  be  a  stranger, 
come  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  the  act.  The 
slightest  twist  in  the  evidence,  the  prepos- 
sessions of  a  witness,  or  the  bad  tact  of  the 
prosecution,  may  cause  things  to  look  so 
dark  on  your  side  as  to  leave  you  but  little 
chance.  For  my  part,  if  the  child  should 
die,  I  think  your  chances  for  a  term  in  the 
State's  prison  are  as  eight  to  ten,  and  I  should 
call  that  pretty  close  cutting." 

I  looked  attentively  at  the  man  who  said 
this,  all  the  while  he  was  speaking,  but  could 
not  clearly  make  out  whether  he  were  alto- 
gether in  earnest,  or  merely  trying  to  worry 


NIGHT  THE  FOURTH.  105 

the  mind  of  Slade.  That  he  was  successful 
in  accomplishing  the  latter,  was  very  plain ; 
for  the  landlord's  countenance  steadily  lost 
color,  and  became  overcast  with  alarm. 
With  that  evil  delight  which  some  men  take 
in  giving  pain,  others,  seeing  Slade's  anxious 
looks,  joined  in  the  persecution,  and  soon 
made  the  landlord's  case  look  black  enough, 
and  the  landlord  himself  almost  as  fright- 
ened as  a  criminal  just  under  arrest. 

"  It's  bad  business,  and  no  mistake,"  said 
one. 

"  Yes,  bad  enough.  I  wouldn't  be  in  his 
shoes  for  his  coat,"  remarked  another. 

"For  his  coat?  No,  not  for  his  whole 
wardrobe,"  said  a  third. 

"  Nor  for  the  Sickle  and  Sheaf  thrown  into 
the  bargain,"  added  the  fourth. 

"  It  will  be  a  clear  case  of  manslaughter, 
and  no  mistake.  What  is  the  penalty  ?" 

"  From  two  to  ten  years  in  the  peniten- 
tiary," was  readily  answered. 

"  They'll  give  him  five,  I  reckon." 

"  No — not  more  than  two.  It  will  be  hard 
to  prove  malicious  intention." 

"  I  don't  know  that.  I've  heard  him  curse 
the  girl  and  threaten  her  many  a  time. 
Haven't  you?" 

"  Yes  "  —  "  Yes  "  —  "  I  have  often,"  ran 
around  the  bar-room. 

"  You'd  better  hang  me  at  once,"  said 
,  affecting  to  laugh. 

At  this  moment  the  door  behind  Slad« 


106  TEN  MIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 


opened,  and  I  saw  his  wife's  anxious  face 
thrust  in  for  a  moment.  She  said  something 
to  her  husband,  who  uttered  a  low  ejacula- 
tion of  surprise,  and  went  out  quickly. 

"  What's  the  matter  now?"  asked  one  of 
another. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  little  Mary  Mor- 
gan was  dead,"  was  suggested. 

"  I  heard  her  say  dead,"  remarked  one 
who  was  standing  near  the  bar. 

"What's  the  matter,  Frank?"  inquired 
several  voices,  as  the  landlord's  son  came  in 
through  the  door  out  of  which  his  father 
had  passed. 

"  Mary  Morgan  is  dead,"  answered  the 
fcoy. 

"  Poor  child !  Poor  child  1"  sighed  one,  in 
genuine  regret  at  the  not  unlooked-for  intel- 
ligence. "  Her  trouble  is  over." 

And  there  was  not  one  present,  but  Har- 
vey Green,  who  did  not  utter  some  word  of 
pity  or  sympathy.  He  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, and  looked  as  much  of  contempt  and 
indifference  as  he  thought  it  prudent  to  ex- 
press. 

"  See  here,  boys,"  spoke  out  one  of  the 
company,  "can't  we  do  something  for  poor 
Mrs.  Morgan?  Can't  we  make  up  a  purse 
for  her?" 

"  That's  it,"  was  quickly  responded  ;  "  I'm 
good  for  three  dollars ;  and  there  they  are," 
drawing  out  the  money  and  laying  it  upon 
the  counter. 


NIGHT  THE  FOURTH.  107 

"  And  here  are  five  to  go  with  them/'  said 
I,  quickly  stepping  forward,  and  placing  a 
five-dollar  bill  alongside  of  the  first  contri- 
bution. 

"  Here  are  five  more,"  added  a  third  indi- 
vidual. And  so  it  went  on,  until  thirty  dol- 
lars were  paid  down  for  the  benefit  of  Mrs. 
Morgan. 

"  Into  whose  hands  shall  this  be  placed?" 
was  next  asked. 

"  Let  me  suggest  Mrs.  Slade,"  said  I.  "  To 
my  certain  knowledge,  she  has  been  with 
Mrs.  Morgan  to-night.  I  know  that  she  feela 
in  her  a  true  woman's  interest." 

"  J  ust  the  person ,"  was  answered.  "  Frank, 
tell  your  mother  we  would  like  to  see  her. 
Ask  her  to  step  into  the  sitting-room." 

In  a  few  moments  the  boy  came  back, 
and  said  that  his  mother  would  see  us  in 
the  next  room,  into  which  we  all  passed. 
Mrs.  Slade  stood  near  the  table,  on  which 
burned  a  lamp.  I  noticed  that  her  eyes 
were  red,  and  that  there  was  on  her  counte- 
nance a  troubled  and  sorrowful  expression. 

"  We  have  just  heard,"  said  one  of  the 
company,  "  that  little  Mary  Morgan  is  dead." 

"  Yes — it  is  too  true,"  answered  Mrs. 
Slade,  mournfully.  "  I  have  just  left  there. 
Poor  child!  she  has  passed  from  an  evil 
world." 

"  Evil  it  has  indeed  been  to  her,"  was  re- 
marked. 

"  You  may  well  say  that.     And  yet,  amid 


108  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

all  the  evil,  she  has  been  an  angel  of  mercy. 
Her  last  thought  in  dying  was  of  her  miser- 
able father.  For  him,  at  any  time,  she  would 
have  laid  down  her  life  willingly." 

"  Her  mother  must  be  nearly  broken- 
hearted. Mary  is  the  last  of  her  children." 

"  And  yet  the  child's  death  may  prove  a 
blessing  to  her." 

"How  so?" 

"Her  father  promised  Mary,  just  at  the 
last  moment — solemnly  promised  her — that, 
henceforth,  he  would  never  taste  liquor. 
That  was  all  her  trouble.  That  was  the 
thorn  in  her  dying  pillow.  But  he  plucked 
it  out,  and  she  went  to  sleep,  lying  against 
his  heart.  Oh,  gentlemen  !  it  was  the  most 
touching  sight  I  ever  saw." 

All  present  seemed  deeply  moved. 

"  They  are  very  poor  and  wretched,"  was 
said. 

"  Poor  and  miserable  enough,"  answered 
Mrs.  Slade. 

"  We  have  just  been  taking  up  a  collection 
for  Mrs.  Morgan.  Here  is  the  money,  Mrs. 
Slade — thirty  dollars — we  place  it  in  your 
hands  for  her  benefit.  Do  with  it  for  her  as 
you  may  see  best." 

"  Oh,  gentlemen  !  "  What  a  quick  gleam 
went  over  the  face  of  Mrs.  Slade.  "  I  thank 
you  from  my  heart,  in  the  name  of  that  un- 
happy one  for  this  act  of  true  benevolence. 
To  you  the  sacrifice  has  been  small;  to  her 
the  benefit  will  be  great  indeed.  A  new  life 


NIGHT  THE  FOURTH.  109 

will,  I  trust,  be  commenced  by  her  husband, 
and  this  timely  aid  will  be  something  to  rest 
upon,  until  he  can  get  into  better  employ- 
ment than  he  now  has.  Oh,  gentlemen !  let 
me  urge  on  you,  one  and  all,  to  make  com- 
mon cause  in  favor  of  Joe  Morgan.  His 
purposes  are  good  now;  he  means  to  keep 
his  promise  to  his  dying  child — means  to 
reform  his  life.  Let  the  good  impulses  that 
led  to  this  act  of  relief  further  prompt  you 
to  watch  over  him,  and,  if  you  see  him  about 
going  astray,  to  lead  him  kindly  back  into 
the  right  path.  Never — oh  !  never  encour- 
age him  to  drink  ;  but  rather  take  the  glass 
from  his  hand  if  his  own  appetite  lead  him 
aside,  and  by  all  the  persuasive  influence 
you  possess  induce  him  to  go  out  from  the 
place  of  temptation. 

"  Pardon  my  boldness  in  saying  so  much," 
added  Mrs.  Slade,  recollecting  herself  and 
coloring  deeply  as  she  did  so.  "  My  feelings 
have  led  me  away." 

And  she  took  the  money  from  the  table 
where  it  had  been  placed  and  retired  toward 
the  door. 

"  You  have  spoken  well,  madam,"  was 
answered,  "  and  we  thank  you  for  reminding 
us  of  our  duty." 

"  One  word  more — and  forgive  the  earnest 
heart  from  which  it  comes "  —  said  Mrs. 
Slade,  in  a  voice  that  trembled  on  the  worda 
she  uttered.  "  I  cannot  help  speaking,  gen- 
tlemen !  Think  if  some  of  you  be  not  enter- 


110  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

ing  the  road  wherein  Joe  Morgan  has  so  long 
been  walking.  Save  him,  in  heaven's  name  I 
but  see  that  ye  do  not  yourselves  become 
castaways!" 

As  she  said  this  she  glided  through  the 
door,  and  it  closed  after  her. 

"I  don't  know  what  her  husband  would 
say  to  that,"  was  remarked  after  a  few  mo- 
ments of  surprised  silence. 

"  I  don't  care  what  he  would  say;  but  I'll 
tell  you  what  7  will  say,"  spoke  out  a  man 
whom  I  had  several  times  noticed  as  rather 
a  free  tippler.  "  The  old  lady  has  given  us 
capital  advice,  and  I  mean  to  take  it,  for 
one.  I'm  going  to  try  to  save  Joe  Morgan, 
and — myself  too.  I've  already  entered  the 
road  she  referred  to ;  but  I'm  going  to  turn 
back.  So  good-night  to  you  all;  and  if 
Simon  Slade  gets  no  more  of  my  sixpences  he 
may  thank  his  wife  for  it — God  bless  her  1" 

And  the  man  drew  his  hat  with  a  jerk  over 
his  forehead  and  left  immediately. 

This  seemed  the  signal  for  dispersion,  and 
all  retired — not  by  way  of  the  bar-room,  but 
put  into  the  hall  and  through  the  door  lead- 
ing upon  the  porch  that  ran  along  in  front 
of  the  house.  Soon  after  the  door  was  closed, 
and  a  dead  silence  reigned  throughout  the 
house.  I  saw  no  more  of  Slade  tnat  night. 
Early  in  the  morning  I  left  Cedarville ;  the 
landlord  looked  very  sober  when  he  bade 
me  good-bye  through  the  stage-door,  and 
wished  me  a  pleasant  journey. 


NIGHT  THE  FIFTH. 

Some  of  the  Consequences  of  Tavern-Keeping. 

NEARLY  five  years  glided  away  before 
business  again  called  me  to  Cedarville.  I 
knew  little  of  what  passed  there  in  the  inter- 
val, except  that  Simon  Slade  had  actually 
been  indicted  for  manslaughter,  in  causing 
the  death  of  Morgan's  child.  He  did  not 
stand  a  trial,  however,  Judge  Lyman  having 
used  his  influence  successfully  in  getting  the 
indictment  quashed.  The  judge,  some  people 
said,  interested  himself  in  Slade  more  than 
was  just  seemly — especially  as  he  had  on 
several  occasions  in  the  discharge  of  his  offi- 
cial duties  displayed  what  seemed  an  over- 
righteous  indignation  against  individuals 
arraigned  for  petty  offences.  The  impres- 
sion made  upon  me  by  Judge  Lyman  had 
not  been  favorable.  He  seemed  a  cold,  sel- 
fish, scheming  man  of  the  world.  That  he 
was  an  unscrupulous  politician  \vas  plain  to 
me,  in  a  single  evening's  observation  of  his 
sayings  and  doings  among  the  common  herd 
of  a  village  bar-room. 

As  the  stage  rolled,  with  a  gay  flourish  of 
our  driver's  bugle,  into  the  village,  I  noted 
here  and  there  familiar  objects,  and  marked 
the  varied  evidences  of  change.  Our  way 

(111  ) 


112  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

was  past  the  elegant  residence  and  grounds 
of  Judge  Hammond,  the  most  beautiful  and 
highly  cultivated  in  Cedarville.  At  least 
such  it  was  regarded  at  the  time  of  my  pre- 
vious visit.  But  the  moment  my  eyes  rested 
upon  the  dwelling  and  its  varied  surround- 
ings I  perceived  an  altered  aspect.  Was  it 
the  simple  work  of  time?  or  had  familiarity 
with  other  and  more  elegantly  arranged 
suburban  homes  marred  this  in  my  eyes  by 
involuntary  contrast?  Or  had  the  hand  of 
cultivation  really  been  stayed,  and  the 
marring  fingers  of  neglect  suffered  undis- 
turbed to  trace  on  everything  disfiguring 
characters  ? 

Such  questions  were  in  my  thoughts,  when 
I  saw  a  man  in  the  large  portico  of  the  dwell- 
ing, the  ample  columns  of  which,  capped  in 
rich  Corinthian,  gave  the  edifice  the  aspect 
of  a  Grecian  temple.  He  stood  leaning 
against  one  of  the  columns,  his  hat  off,  and 
his  long  gray  hair  thrown  back  and  resting 
lightly  on  his  neck  and  shoulders.  His  head 
was  bent  down  upon  his  breast,  and  he 
seemed  in  deep  abstraction.  Just  as  the 
coach  swept  by  he  looked  up,  and  in  the 
changed  features  I  recognized  Judge  Ham- 
mond. His  complexion  was  still  florid,  but 
his  face  had  grown  thin,  and  his  eyes  were 
sunken.  Trouble  was  written  in  every  line- 
ament. Trouble?  How  inadequately  does 
the  word  express  my  meaning !  Ah !  at  a 
eingle  glance  what  a  volume  of  suffering  was 


NIGHT  THE  FIFTH.  113 

opened  to  the  gazer's  eye.  Not  lightly  had 
the  foot  of  time  rested  there,  as  if  treading 
on  odorous  flowers,  but  heavily,  and  with 
iron-shod  heel.^  This  I  saw  at  a  glance ;  and 
then,  only  the  image  of  the  man  was  present 
to  my  inner  vision,  for  the  swiftly  rolling 
stage-coach  had  borne  me  onward  past  the 
altered  home  of  the  wealthiest  denizen  of 
Dedarville.  In  a  few  minutes  our  driver 
reined  up  before  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  and 
as  I  stepped  to  the  ground,  a  rotund,  coarse, 
red-faced  man,  whom  I  failed  to  recognize  as 
Simon  Slade  until  he  spoke,  grasped  my 
hand  and  pronounced  my  name.  I  could 
not  but  contrast  in  thought  his  appearance 
with  what  it  was  when  I  first  saw  him  some 
six  years  previously,  nor  help  saying  to  my- 
self— 

"  So  much  for  tavern-keeping!" 
As  marked  a  change  was  visible  every- 
where in  and  around  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf." 
It,  too,  had  grown  larger  by  additions  of 
wings  and  rooms;  but  it  had  also  grown 
coarser  in  growing  larger.  When  built,  all 
the  doors  were  painted  white,  and  the  shut- 
ters green,  giving  to  the  house  a  neat,  even 
tasteful  appearance.  But  the  white  and 
green  had  given  place  to  a  dark,  dirty  brown, 
that  to  my  eyes  was  particularly  unattractive. 
The  bar-room  had  been  extended,  and  now 
a  polished  brass  rod  or  railing,  embellished 
the  counter,  and  sundry  ornamental  attrac- 
tions had  been  given  to  the  shelving  behind 


114  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

the  bar,  such  as  mirrors,  gilding,  etc.  Pict- 
ures, too,  were  hung  upon  the  walls,  or,  more 
accurately  speaking,  coarse-colored  litho- 
graphs, the  subjects  of  which,  if  not  really 
obscene,  were  flashing,  or  vulgar.  In  the 
sitting-room,  next  to  the  bar,  I  noticed  little 
change  of  objects,  but  much  in  their  condi- 
tion. The  carpet,  chairs  and  tables  were  the 
same  in  fact,  but  far  from  being  the  same 
in  appearance.  The  room  had  a  close,  greasy 
odor,  and  looked  as  if  it  had  not  been  thor* 
oughly  swept  and  dusted  for  a  week. 

A  smart  young  Irishman  was  in  the  bar. 
and  handed  me  the  book  in  which  passen~ 
gers'  names  were  registered.  After  I  had 
recorded  mine,  he  directed  my  trunk  to  be 
carried  to  the  room  designated  as  the  one  I 
was  to  occupy.  I  followed  the  porter,  who 
conducted  me  to  the  chamber  which  had 
been  mine  at  previous  visits.  Here,  too,  were 
evidences  of  change ;  but  not  for  the  better. 
Then  the  room  was  as  sweet  and  clean  as  it 
could  be;  the  sheets  and  pillow-cases  as 
white  as  snow,  and  the  furniture  shining 
with  polish.  Now  all  was  dusty  and  dingy, 
the  air  foul,  and  the  bed-linen  scarcely 
whiter  than  tow.  No  curtain  made  softer 
the  light  as  it  came  through  the  window; 
nor  would  the  shutters  entirely  keep  out  the 
glare,  for  several  of  the  slats  were  broken. 
A  feeling  of  disgust  came  over  me  at  the  close 
smell  and  foul  appearance  of  everything ;  so 
after  washing  my  hands  and  face,  and  brush- 


NIGHT  THE  FIFTH.  115 

ing  the  dust  from  my  clothes,  I  went  down- 
stairs. The  sitting-room  was  scarcely  more 
attractive  than  my  chamber,  so  I  went  out 
upon  the  porch  and  took  a  chair.  Several 
loungers  were  here;  hearty,  strong-looking, 
but  lazy  fellows,  who,  if  they  had  anything 
to  do,  liked  idling  better  than  working.  One 
of  them  had  leaned  his  chair  back  against 
the  wall  of  the  house,  and  was  swinging  his 
legs  with  a  half-circular  motion,  and  hum- 
ming "Old  Folks  at  Home."  Another  sat 
astride  of  his  chair,  with  his  face  turned  to- 
ward, and  his  chin  resting  upon,  the  back. 
He  was  in  too  lazy  a  condition  of  body  and 
mind  for  motion  or  singing.  A  third  had 
slidden  down  in  his  chair  until  he  sat  on  his 
back,  while  his  feet  were  elevated  above  his 
head  and  resting  against  one  of  the  pillars 
that  supported  the  porch,  while  a  fourth  lay 
stretched  out  on  a  bench,  sleeping,  his  hat 
over  his  face  to  protect  him  from  buzzing 
and  biting  flies. 

Though  all  but  the  sleeping  man  eyed  me 
inquisitively,  as  I  took  my  place  among 
them,  not  one  changed  his  position.  The 
rolling  of  eyeballs  cost  but  little  exertion, 
and  with  that  effort  they  were  contented. 

"  Hallo  1  who's  that?"  one  of  these  loungers 
suddenly  exclaimed  as  a  man  went  swiftly 
by  in  a  light  sulky;  and  he  started  up  and 
gazed  down  the  road,  seeking  to  penetrate 
the  cloud  of  dust  which  the  fleet  rider  had 
swept  up  with  hoofs  and  wheels. 


116  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-ROOM. 

"  I  didn't  see."  The  sleeping  man  aroused 
himself,  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  gazed  along 
the  road. 

"  Who  was  it,  Matthew  ?"  The  Irish  bar- 
keeper now  stood  in  the  door. 

"  Willy  Hammond,"  was  answered  by 
Matthew. 

"  Indeed  !  Is  that  his  new  three-hundred- 
dollar  horse  ?" 

"Yes." 

u  My  !  but  he's  a  screamer !" 

"  Isn't  he  1  Most  as  fast  as  his  young 
master." 

"  Hardly,"  said  one  of  the  men,  laughing. 
"  I  don't  think  anything  in  creation  can  beat 
Hammond.  He  goes  it  with  a  perfect  rush." 

"Doesn't  he!  Well,  you  may  say  what 
you  please  of  him,  he's  as  good-hearted  a 
fellow  as  ever  walked;  and  generous  to  a 
fault." 

"  His  old  dad  will  agree  with  you  in  the 
last  remark,"  said  Matthew. 

"  No  doubt  of  that,  for  he  has  to  stand  the 
bil]s/'  was  answered. 

"  Yes,  whether  he  will  or  no,  for  I  rather 
think  Willy  has,  somehow  or  other,  got  the 
upper  hand  of  him." 

"  In  what  way  ?" 

"  It's  Hammond  and  Son,  over  at  the  mill 
and  distillery." 

"  I  know;  but  what  of  that?" 

"  Willy  was  made  the  business  man — 
•Btensibly — in  order,  as  the  old  man  thought, 


NIQHT  THE  FIFTH.  117 

to  get  him  to  feel  the  responsibility  of  the 
new  position,  and  thus  tame  him  down." 

"Tame  him  down!  Oh,  dear!  It  will 
take  more  than  business  to  do  that.  The 
curb  was  applied  too  late." 

"As  the  old  gentleman  has  already  dis- 
covered, I'm  thinking,  to  his  sorrow." 

"  He  never  comes  here  any  more ;  does  he 
Matthew  ?" 

"  Who  ?" 

"Judge  Hammond." 

"Oh,  dear,  no.  He  and  Slade  had  all 
sorts  of  a  quarrel  about  a  year  ago,  and  he's 
never  darkened  our  doors  since." 

"  It  was  something  about  Willy  and — " 
the  speaker  did  not  mention  any  name,  but 
winked  knowingly  and  tossed  his  head 
toward  the  entrance  of  the  house,  to  indicate 
some  member  of  Slade's  family. 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  D'ye  think  Willy  really  likes  her?" 

Matthew  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  made 
no  answer. 

"  She's  a  nice  girl,"  was  remarked  in  an 
undertone,  "and  good  enough  for  Ham- 
mond's son  any  day;  though,  if  she  were 
my  daughter,  I'd  rather  see  her  in  Jericho 
than  fond  of  his  company." 

"  He'll  have  plenty  of  money  to  give  her. 
She  can  live  like  a  queen." 

"  For  how  long  ?" 

"  Hush  !"  came  from  the  lips  of  Matthew. 
"  There  she  is  now." 


118  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

I  looked  up  and  saw,  at  a  short  distance 
from  the  house,  and  approaching,  a  young 
lady,  in  whose  sweet,  modest  face  I  at  once 
recognized  Flora  Slade.  Five  years  had  de- 
veloped her  into  a  beautiful  woman.  In  her 
alone,  of  all  that  appertained  to  Simon 
Slade,  there  was  no  deterioration.  Her  eyes 
were  as  mild  and  pure  as  when  first  I  met 
her  at  gentle  sixteen,  and  her  father  said 
"  My  daughter"  with  such  a  mingling  of 
pride  and  affection  in  his  tone.  She  passed 
near  where  I  was  sitting,  and  entered  the 
house.  A  closer  view  showed  me  some  marks 
of  thought  and  suffering;  but  they  only 
heightened  the  attractions  of  her  face.  I 
failed  not  to  observe  the  air  of  respect  with 
which  all  returned  her  slight  nod  and  smile 
of  recognition. 

"  She's  a  nice  girl,  and  no  mistake — the 
flower  of  this  flock,"  was  said,  as  soon  as  she 
passed  into  the  house. 

"  Too  good  for  Willy  Hammond,  in  my 
opinion,"  said  Matthew,  "  clever  and  gen- 
erous as  people  call  him." 

"Just  my  opinion,"  was  responded. 
"She's  as  pure  and  good,  almost,  as  an 
angel;  and  he ?— I  can  tell  you  what — he's 
not  the  clear  thing.  He  knows  a  little  too 
much  of  the  world — on  its  bad  side,  I 
mean." 

The  appearance  of  Slade  put  an  end  to 
this  conversation.  A  second  observation  of 
his  person  and  countenance  did  not  remove 


NIGHT  THE  FIFTH.  11S» 

the  first  unfavorable  impression.  His  face 
had  grown  decidedly  bad  in  expression,  as 
well  as  gross  and  sensual.  The  odor  of  hia 
breath,  as  he  took  a  chair  close  to  where  I 
was  sitting,  was  that  of  one  who  drank  habit- 
ually and  freely ;  and  the  red,  swimming 
eyes  evidenced,  too  surely,  a  rapid  progress 
toward  the  sad  condition  of  a  confirmed  in- 
ebriate. There  was,  too,  a  certain  thickness 
of  speech,  that  gave  another  corroborating 
sign  of  evil  progress. 

"  Have  you  seen  anything  of  Frank  this 
afternoon  ?"  he  inquired  of  Matthew,  after  we 
had  passed  a  few  words. 

"  Nothing,"  was  the  bar-keeper's  answer. 

"  I  saw  him  with  Tom  Wilkins  as  I  came 
over,"  said  one  of  the  men  who  was  sitting 
on  the  porch. 

"  What  was  he  doing  with  Tom  Wilkins  ?" 
said  Slade,  in  a  fretted  tone  of  voice.  "  He 
doesn't  seem  very  choice  of  his  company." 

"  They  were  gunning." 

"Gunning!" 

"  Yes.  They  both  had  fowling-pieces.  I 
wasn't  near  enough  to  ask  where  they  were 
going." 

This  information  disturbed  Slade  a  good 
deal.  After  muttering  to  himself  for  a  little 
while,  he  started  up  and  went  into  the  house. 

"  And  I  could  have  told  him  a  little  more, 
had  I  been  so  inclined,"  said  the  individual 
who  mentioned  the  fact  that  Frank  was  with 
Tom  Wilkins. 


120  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

"  What  more  ?"  inquired  Matthew. 

"  There  was  a  buggy  in  the  case ;  and  a 
champagne  basket.  What  the  latter  con- 
tained you  can  easily  guess." 

"  Whose  buggy  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  buggy ; 
but  if  'Lightfoot'  doesn't  sink  in  value  a 
hundred  dollars  or  so  before  sundown,  call 
me  a  false  prophet." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Matthew,  incredulously 
"  Frank  wouldn't  do  an  outrageous  thing 
like  that.  Lightfoot  won't  be  in  a  condition 
to  drive  for  a  month  to  come." 

"I  don't  care.  She's  out  now;  and  tht 
way  she  was  putting  it  down  when  I  sa^ 
her  would  have  made  a  locomotive  lool 
cloudy." 

"  Where  did  he  get  her  ?"  was  inquired, 

"  She's  been  in  the  six- acre  field,  over  by 
Mason's  Bridge,  for  the  last  week  or  so,'" 
Matthew  answered.  "  Well ;  all  I  have  to 
say,"  he  added,  "  is  that  Frank  ought  to  be 
slung  up  and  well  horsewhipped.  I  never 
saw  such  a  young  rascal.  He  cares  for  no 
good,  and  fears  no  evil.  He's  the  worst  boy 
I  ever  saw." 

"  It  would  hardly  do  for  you  to  call  him  a 
boy  to  his  face,"  said  one  of  the  men,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  I  don't  have  much  to  say  to  him  in  any 
way,"  replied  Matthew,  "  for  I  know  very 
well,  that  if  we  ever  do  get  into  a  quarrel, 
there'll  be  a  hard  time  of  it.  The  same  house 


NIGHT  THE  FIFTH.  121 

will  not  hold  us  afterward — that's  certain. 
So  I  steer  clear  of  the  young  reprobate." 

"  I  wonder  his  father  don't  put  him  to 
some  business,"  was  remarked.  "The  idle 
life  he  now  leads  will  be  his  ruin." 

"  He  was  behind  the  bar  for  a  year  or  two." 
«  "  Yes ;  and  was  smart  at  mixing  a  glass — 
but—" 

"  Was  himself  becoming  too  good  a  cus- 
tomer?" 

"  Precisely.  He  got  drunk  as  a  fool  before 
reaching  his  fifteenth  year." 

"Good  gracious!"  I  exclaimed,  involun- 
tarily. 

"  It's  true,  sir,"  said  the  last  speaker,  turn- 
ing to  me.  "  I  never  saw  anything  like  it. 
And  this  wasn't  all.  Bar-room  talk,  as  you 
maybe  know,  isn't  the  most  refined  and  vir- 
tuous in  the  world.  I  wouldn't  like  my  son 
to  hear  much  of  it.  Frank  was  always  an 
eager  listener  to  everything  that  was  said, 
and  in  a  very  short  time  became  an  adept  in 
slang  and  profanity.  Fm  no  saint  myself; 
but  it's  often  made  my  blood  run  cold  to 
hear  him  swear." 

"I  pity  his  mother,"  said  I,  for  my 
thought  turned  naturally  to  Mrs.  Slade. 

"You  may  well  do  that,''  was  answered. 
"  I  doubt  if  Cedarville  holds  a  sadder  heart 
It  was  a  dark  day  for  her,  let  me  tell  you, 
when  Simon  Slade  sold  his  mill  and  built 
his  tavern.  She  was  opposed  to  it  in  the  be- 
ginning." 


122  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

"  I  have  inferred  as  much." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  the  man.  "  My  wife  has 
been  intimate  with  her  for  years.  Indeed, 
they  have  always  been  like  sisters.  I  re- 
member very  well  her  coming  to  our  house, 
about  the  time  the  mill  was  sold,  and  crying 
about  it  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  She 
saw  nothing  but  trouble  and  sorrow  ahead. 
Tavern-keeping  she  had  always  regarded  as 
a  low  business;  and  the  change  from  a  re- 
spectable miller  to  a  lazy  tavern-keeper,  as 
she  expressed  it,  was  presented  to  her  mind 
as  something  disgraceful.  I  remember,  very 
well,  trying  to  argue  the  point  with  her — as- 
suming that  it  was  quite  as  respectable  to 
keep  tavern  as  to  do  anything  else ;  but  I 
might  as  well  have  talked  to  the  wind.  She 
was  always  a  pleasant,  hopeful,  cheerful 
woman  before  that  time  ;  but,  really,  I  don't 
think  I've  seen  a  true  smile  on  her  face 
Bince." 

"  That  was  a  great  deal  for  a  man  to  lose," 
said  I. 

"  What  ?"  he  inquired,  not  clearly  under- 
standing me. 

"  The  cheerful  face  of  his  wife." 

"  The  face  was  but  an  index  of  her  heart," 
said  he. 

"  So  much  the  worse." 

"  True  enough  for  that.  Yes,  it  was  a 
great  deal  to  lose." 

"  What  has  he  gained  that  will  make  up 
for  this?" 


NIGHT  THE  FIFTH.  123 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  What  has  he  gained  ?"  I  repeated.  "  Can 
you  figure  it  up?" 

"  He's  a  richer  man,  for  one  thing." 

"Happier?" 

There  was  another  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
M  I  wouldn't  like  to  say  that."' 

"How  much  richer?" 

"  Oh,  a  great  deal.  Somebody  was  saying, 
only  yesterday,  that  he  couldn't  be  worth 
less  than  thirty  thousand  dollars.'' 

"  Indeed?    So  much." 

"  Yes." 

"  How  has  he  managed  to  accumulate  so 
rapidly?" 

"  His  bar  has  a  large  run  of  custom.  And, 
you  know,  that  pays  wonderfully." 

"  He  must  have  sold  a  great  deal  of  liquor 
in  six  years." 

"  And  he  has.  I  don't  think  I'm  wrong 
in  saying  that  in  the  six  years  which  have 
gone  by  since  the 'Sickle  and  Sheaf  was 
opened  more  liquor  has  been  drank  than  in 
the  previous  twenty  years.' ' 

"  Say  forty,''  remarked  a  man  who  had 
been  a  listener  to  what  we  said. 

"  Let  it  be  forty  then,"  was  the  according 
answer. 

"How  comes  this?"  I  inquired.  "You 
had  a  tavern  here  before  the  Sickle  and 
Sheaf  was  opened." 

"  I  know  we  had,  and  several  places  be- 
sides where  liquor  was  sold.  But,  everybody 


124  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

far  and  near  knew  Simon  Slade  the  miller, 
and  everybody  liked  him.  He  was  a  gooa 
miller,  and  a  cheerful,  social,  chatty  sort  of 
a  man,  putting  everybody  in  a  good  humor 
who  came  near  him.  So  it  became  the  talk 
everywhere,  when  he  built  this  house,  which 
he  fitted  up  nicer  than  anything  that  had 
been  seen  in  these  parts.  Judge  Hammond, 
Judge  Lyman,  Lawyer  Wilson,  and  all  the 
big-bugs  of  the  place  at  once  patronized  the 
new  tavern ;  and,  of  course,  everybody  else 
did  the  same.  So,  you  can  easily  see  how 
he  got  such  a  run." 

"  It  was  thought  in  the  beginning,"  said  I, 
"  that  the  new  tavern  was  going  to  do  won- 
ders for  Cedarville.'1 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  man  laughing,  "  and 
so  it  has." 

"In  what  respect?" 

"  Oh,  in  many.  It  has  made  some  men 
richer,  and  some  poorer." 

"  Who  has  it  made  poorer?" 

"  Dozens  of  people.  You  may  always  take 
it  for  granted,  when  you  see  a  tavern-keeper, 
who  has  a  good  run  at  his  bar,  getting  rich, 
that  a  great  many  people  are  getting  poor." 

"How  so?"  I  wished  to  hear  in  what 
way  the  man,  who  was  himself,  as  was  plain 
to  see,  a  good  customer  at  somebody's  bar, 
reasoned  on  the  subject. 

"  He  does  not  add  to  the  general  wealth. 
He  produces  nothing.  He  takes  money  from 
his  customers,  but  gives  them  no  article  of 


NIGHT  THE  FIFTH.  125 

value  in  return — nothing  that  can  be  called 
property,  personal  or  real.  He  is  just  so 
much  richer  and  they  just  so  much  poorer 
for  the  exchange.  Is  it  not  so?" 

I  readily  assented  to  the  position  as  true, 
and  then  said — 

"  Who,  in  particular,  is  poorer?" 

"  Judge  Hammond,  for  one." 

"  Indeed !  I  thought  the  advance  in  his 
property,  in  consequence  of  the  building  of 
this  tavern,  was  so  great,  that  he  was  reap- 
ing a  rich  pecuniary  harvest." 

''  There  was  a  slight  advance  in  property 
along  the  street  after  the  Sickle  and  Sheaf 
was  opened,  and  Judge  Hammond  was  ben- 
efited thereby.  Interested  parties  made  a 
good  deal  of  noise  about  it;  but  it  didn't 
amount  to  much,  I  believe." 

"What  has  caused  the  judge  to  grow 
poorer?" 

"  The  opening  of  this  tavern,  as  I  just 
said." 

"  In  what  way  did  it  affect  him?" 

"  He  was  among  Slade's  warmest  support- 
ers, as  soon  as  he  felt  the  advance  in  the 
price  of  building  lots,  called  him  one  of  the 
most  enterprising  men  in  Cedarville — a  real 
benefactor  to  the  place — and  all  that  stuff. 
To  set  a  good  example  of  patronage,  he  came 
over  every  day  and  took  his  glass  of  brandy, 
and  encouraged  everybody  else  that  he  could 
influence  to  do  the  same.  Among  those  who 
followed  his  example  was  his  son  Willy. 


126  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-BOOM. 

There  was  not,  let  me  tell  you,  in  all  the 
country  for  twenty  miles  around,  a  finer 
young  man  than  Willy,  nor  one  of  so  much 
promise,  when  this  man-trap" — he  let  his 
voice  fall,  and  glanced  around,  as  he  thus 
designated  Blade's  tavern — "  was  opened ; 
and  now,  there  is  not  one  dashing  more  reck- 
lessly along  the  road  to  ruin.  When  too  late, 
his  father  saw  that  his  son  was  corrupted,  and 
that  the  company  he  kept  was  of  a  danger- 
ous character.  Two  reasons  led  him  to  pur- 
chase Blade's  old  mill,  and  turn  it  into  a  fac- 
tory and  a  distillery.  Of  course,  he  had  to 
make  a  heavy  outlay  for  additional  build- 
ings, machinery,  and  distilling  apparatus. 
The  reasons  influencing  him  were  the  pros- 
pect of  realizing  a  large  amount  of  money, 
especially  in  distilling,  and  the  hope  of  sav- 
ing Willy,  by  getting  him  closely  engaged 
and  interested  in  business.  To  accomplish, 
more  certainly,  the  latter  end,  he  unwisely 
transferred  to  his, son,  as  his  own  capital, 
twenty  thousand  dollars,  and  then  formed 
with  him  a  regular  copartnership — giving 
Willy  an  active  business  control. 

"But  the  experiment,  sir,"  added  the  man, 
emphaticall}'-,  "  has  proved  a  failure.  I  heard 
yesterday  that  both  mill  and  distillery  were 
to  be  shut  up,  and  offered  for  sale." 

"  They  did  not  prove  as  money-making  as 
Was  anticipated  ?" 

"  No,  not  under  Willy  Hammond's  man- 
agement. He  had  made  too  many  bad  ao- 


NIGHT  THE  FIFTH.  127 

quaintances — men  who  clung  to  him  because 
he  had  plenty  of  money  at  his  command, 
and  spent  it  as  freely  as  water.  One  half  of 
his  time  he  was  away  from  the  mill,  and 
while  there,  didn't  half  attend  to  business. 
I've  heard  it  said — and  I  don't  much  doubt 
its  truth — that  he's  squandered  his  twenty 
thousand  dollars,  and  a  great  deal  more  be- 
sides." 

u  How  is  that  possible?" 

"  Well,  people  talk,  and  not  always  at  ran- 
dom. There's  been  a  man  staying  here,  most 
of  his  time,  for  the  last  four  or  five  years, 
named  Green.  He  does  not  do  anything,  and 
don't  seem  to  have  any  friends  in  the  nigh- 
borhood.  Nobody  knows  where  he  came 
from,  and  he  is  not  at  all  communicative  on 
that  head  himself.  Well,  this  man  became 
acquainted  with  young  Hammond  after 
Willy  got  to  visiting  the  bar  here,  and  at- 
tached himself  to  him  at  once.  They  have, 
to  all  appearance,  been  fast  friends  ever 
since ;  riding  about,  or  going  off  on  gunning 
or  fishing  excurr'ons  almost  every  day,  and 
secluding  themselves  somewhere  nearly 
every  evening.  That  man,  Green,  sir,  it  is 
whispered,  is  a  gambler;  and  I  believe  it. 
Granted,  and  there  is  no  longer  a  mystery  as 
to  what  Willy  does  with  his  own  and  his 
father's  money." 

I  readily  assented  to  this  view  of  the  case. 

''And  so  assuming  that  Green  is  a  gam- 
bler," said  I,  "  he  has  grown  richer,  in  con- 


128  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

sequence  of  the  opening  of  a  new  and  more 
attractive  tavern  in  Cedarville." 

"  Yes,  and  Cedarville  is  so  much  the  poorer 
for  all  his  gains ;  for  I've  never  heard  of  his 
buying  a  foot  of  ground,  or  in  any  way  en- 
couraging productive  industry.  He's  only 
a  blood-sucker." 

"  It  is  worse  than  the  mere  abstraction  of 
money,"  I  remarked ;  "  he  corrupts  his  vic- 
tims, at  the  same  time  that  he  robs  them." 

"True." 

"Willy  Hammond  may  not  be  his  only 
victim,"*!  suggested. 

"Nor  is  he,  in  my  opinion.  I've  been 
coming  to  this  bar,  nightly,  for  a  good  many 
years — a  sorry  confession  for  a  man  to  make, 
I  must  own,"  he  added,  with  a  slight  tinge 
of  shame;  "  but  so  it  is.  Well,  as  I  was  say- 
ing, I've  been  coming  to  this  bar,  nightly,  for 
a  good  many  years,  and  I  generally  see  all 
that  is  going  on  around  me.  Among  the 
regular  visitors  are  at  least  half  a  dozen 
young  men,  belonging  to  our  best  families — 
who  have  been  raised  with  care,  and  well 
educated.  That  their  presence  here  is  un- 
known to  their  friends,  I  am  quite  certain — 
or,  at  least,  unknown  and  unsuspected  by 
some  of  them.  They  do  not  drink  a  great 
deal  yet;  but  all  try  a  glass  or  two.  Toward 
nine  o'clock,  often  at  an  earlier  hour,  you 
will  see  one  and  another  of  them  go  quietly 
out  of  the  bar,  through  the  sitting-room,  pre- 
ceded, or  soon  followed,  by  Green  and  Slade. 


NIGHT  THE  FIFTH.  129 

At  any  hour  of  the  night,  up  to  one  or  two, 
and  sometimes  three  o'clock,  you  can  see 
light  streaming  through  the  rent  in  a  cur- 
tain drawn  before  a  particular  window, 
which  I  know  to  be  in  the  room  of  Harvey 
Green.  These  are  facts,  sir,  and  you  can 
draw  your  own  conclusion.  I  think  it  a 
very  serious  matter." 

"  Why  doesSladego  out  with  these  young 
men  ?"  I  inquired.  u  Do  you  think  he  gam- 
bles, also?" 

"  If  he  isn't  a  kind  of  a  stool-pigeon  for 
Harvey  Green,  then  I'm  mistaken  again." 

"  Hardly.  He  cannot,  already,  have  be- 
come so  utterly  unprincipled." 

"  It's  a  bad  school,  sir,  this  tavern-keep- 
ing," said  the  man. 

I  readily  grant  you  that." 

"And  it's  nearly  seven  years  since  he 
commenced  to  take  lessons.  A  great  deal 
may  be  learned,  sir,  of  good  or  evil,  in  seven 
years,  especially  if  any  interest  be  taken  in 
the  studies." 

"True." 

"And  it's  true  in  this  case,  you  may  de- 
pend upon  it.  Simon  Slade  is  not  the  man 
he  was  seven  years  ago.  Anybody  with 
half  an  eye  can  see  that.  He's  grown  sel- 
fish, grasping,  unscrupulous  and  passionate. 
There  could  hardly  be  a  greater  difference 
between  men  than  exists  between  Simon 
Slade  the  tavern-keeper,  and  Simon  Slade 
the  miller." 

E 


130  TEN  NIGHTS  IF  A  BAB-BOOM. 

"  And  intemperate,  also  ?"  I  suggested. 

"  He's  beginning  to  take  a  little  too  much," 
was  answered. 

"  In  that  case,  he'll  scarcely  be  as  well  off 
five  years  hence  as  he  is  now." 

"  He's  at  the  top  of  the  wheel,  some  of  us 
think." 

"  What  has  led  to  this  opinion  ?" 

"  He's  beginning  to  neglect  his  house,  for 
one  thing." 

"  A  bad  sign." 

"  And  there  is  another  sign.  Heretofore, 
he  has  always  been  on  hand,  with  the  cash, 
when  desirable  property  went  off,  under 
forced  sale,  at  a  bargain.  In  the  last  three 
or  four  months  several  great  sacrifices  have 
been  made,  but  Simon  Slade  showed  no  in- 
clination to  buy.  Put  this  fact  against  an- 
other,— week  before  last  he  sold  a  house  and 
lot  in  the  town  for  five  hundred  dollars  less 
than  he  paid  for  them  a  year  ago — and  for 
just  that  sum  less  than  their  true  value." 

"  How  came  that  ?"  I  inquired. 

"Ah!  there's  the  question  I  He  wanted 
money,  though  for  what  purpose  he  has  not 
intimated  to  any  one,  as  far  as  I  can  learn." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?" 

"  Just  this.  He  and  Green  have  been 
hunting  together  in  times  past ;  but  the  pro- 
fessed gambler's  instincts  are  too  strong  to 
let  him  spare  even  his  friend  in  evil.  They 
have  commenced  playing  one  against  th« 
other." 


NIGHT  THE  FIFTH.  131 

"  Ah  !  you  think  so  ?" 

"  I  do ;  and  if  I  conjecture  rightly,  Simon 
Slade  will  be  a  poorer  man,  in  a  year  from 
this  time,  than  he  is  now." 

Here  our  conversation  was  interrupted. 
Some  one  asked  my  talkative  friend  to  go 
and  take  a  drink,  and  he,  nothing  loath,  left 
me  without  ceremony. 

Very  differently  served  was  the  supper  I 
partook  of  on  that  evening,  from  the  one 
set  before  me  on  the  occasion  of  my  first 
visit  to  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf."  The  table- 
cloth was  not  merely  soiled,  but  offensively 
dirty ;  the  plates,  cups  and  saucers,  dingy 
and  sticky;  the  knives  and  forks  unpol- 
ished ;  and  the  food  of  a  character  to  satisfy 
the  appetite  with  a  very  few  mouthfuls. 
Two  greasy-looking  waiteresses  tended  on  the 
table,  at  which  neither  landlord  nor  land- 
lady presided.  I  was  really  hungry  when 
the  supper-bell  rang ;  but  the  craving  of  my 
stomach  soon  ceased  in  the  atmosphere  of 
the  dining-room,  and  I  was  the  first  to  leave 
the  table. 

Soon  after  the  lamps  were  lighted,  com- 
pany began  to  assemble  in  the  spacious 
bar-room,  where  were  comfortable  seats, 
with  tables,  newspapers,  backgammon- 
boards,  dominos,  etc.  The  first  act  of 
nearly  every  one  who  came  in  was  to  call 
for  a  glass  of  liquor;  and  sometimes  the 
same  individual  drank  two  or  three  times  in 
the  course  of  half  an  hour,  on  the  invitation 


132  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

of  new-comers  who  were  conviviaily  In- 
clined. 

Most  of  those  who  came  in  were  strangers 
to  me.  I  was  looking  from  face  to  face  to 
see  if  any  of  the  old  company  were  present, 
when  one  countenance  struck  me  as  famil- 
iar. I  was  studying  it,  in  order,  if  possible, 
to  identify  the  person,  when  some  one  ad- 
dressed him  as  "  Judge." 

Changed  as  the  face  was,  I  no-tf  recognized 
it  as  that  of  Judge  Lyman.  Five  years  had 
marred  that  face  terribly.  It  seemed  twice 
the  former  size ;  and  all  its  bright  expression 
was  gone.  The  thickened  and  protruding 
eyelids  half-closed  the  leaden  eyes,  and  the 
swollen  lips  and  cheeks  gave  to  his  counte- 
nance a  look  of  all-predominating  sensual- 
ity. True  manliness  had  bowed  itself  in 
debasing  submission  to  the  bestial.  He 
talked  loudly,  and  with  a  pompous  dogma- 
tism— mainly  on  political  subjects — but 
talked  only  from  memory ;  for  any  one 
could  see  that  thought  came  into  but  feeble 
activity.  And  yet,  derationalized,  so  to 
speak,  as  he  was,  through  drink,  he  had 
been  chosen  a  representative  in  Congress,  at 
the  previous  election,  on  the  anti-temper- 
ance ticket,  and  by  a  very  handsome  major- 
ity. He  was  the  rum  candidate ;  and  the 
rum  interest,  aided  by  the  easily  swayed 
"  indifferents,"  swept  aside  the  claims  of 
law,  order,  temperance,  and  good  morals; 
and  the  district  from  which  he  was  chosen 


NIGHT  TEE  FIFTH.  133 

as  a  National  Legislator  sent  him  up  to  the 
National  Councils,  and  said  in  the  act — 
"  Look  upon  him  we  have  chosen  as  out 
representative,  and  see  in  him  a  type  of  our 
principles,  our  quality,  and  our  condition  as 
a  community." 

Judge  Lyman,  around  whom  a  little  circle 
soon  gathered,  was  very  severe  on  the  tem- 
perance party,  which  for  two  years  had  op- 
posed his  election,  and  which  at  the  last 
struggle  showed  itself  to  be  a  rapidly  grow< 
ing  organization.  During  the  canvass  a 
paper  was  published  by  this  party,  in  which 
his  personal  habits,  character,  and  moral 
principles  were  discussed  in  the  freest  man- 
ner, and  certainly  not  in  a  way  to  elevate 
him  in  the  estimation  of  men  whose  opinion 
was  of  any  value. 

It  was  not  much  to  be  wondered  at  that 
he  assumed  to  think  temperance  issues 
at  the  polls  were  false  issues,  and  that  when 
temperance  men  sought  to  tamper  with  elec- 
tions the  liberties  of  the  people  were  in  dan- 
ger; nor  that  he  pronounced  the  whole  body 
of  temperance  men  as  selfish  schemers  and 
canting  hypocrites.  "The  next  thing  we 
will  have,"  he  exclaimed,  warming  with  his 
theme,  and  speaking  so  loud  that  his  voice 
eounded  throughout  the  room  and  arrested 
every  one's  attention,  "  will  be  laws  to  fine 
any  man  who  takes  a  chew  of  tobacco  or 
lights  a  cigar.  Touch  the  liberties  of  the 
people  in  the  smallest  particular  and  all 


134  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-BOOM. 

guarantees  are  gone.  The  Stamp  Act,  against 
which  our  noble  forefathers  rebelled,  was  a 
light  measure  of  oppression  to  that  contem- 
plated by  these  worse  than  fanatics." 

"You  are  right  there,  judge;  right  for 
once  in  your  life,  if  you  (hie)  were  never 
right  before !"  exclaimed  a  battered-looking 
specimen  of  humanity,  who  stood  near  the 
speaker,  slapping  Judge  Lyman  on  the 
shoulder  familiarly  as  he  spoke.  "  There's 
no  telling  what  they  will  do.  There's  (hie) 
my  old  uncle  Josh  Wilson,  who's  been  keeper 
of  the  poor-house  these  ten  years.  Well, 
they're  going  to  turn  him  out,  if  ever  they 
get  the  upper  hand  in  Bolton  county." 

"  If?  That  word  involves  a  great  deal, 
Harry,"  said  Lyman.  "  We  mus'n't  let 
them  get  the  upper  hand.  Every  man  has  a 
duty  to  perform  to  his  country  in  this  mat- 
ter, and  every  one  must  do  his  duty.  But 
what  have  they  got  against  your  Uncle 
Joshua  ?  What  has  he  been  doing  to  offend 
this  righteous  party  ?" 

"  They've  nothing  against  him  (hie),  I  be- 
lieve. Only,  they  say,  they're  not  going  to 
have  a  poor-house  in  the  county  at  all." 

"  What !  Going  to  turn  the  poor  wretc'hes 
out  to  starve  ?"  said  one. 

"  Oh,  no !  (hie),"  and  the  fellow  grinned, 
half-shrewdly  and  half-maliciously,  as  he 
answered — "no,  not  that.  But  when  they 
carry  the  day,  there'll  be  no  need  of  poor- 
houses.  At  least  that's  their  talk — and  I 


NIGHT  THE  FIFTH.  135 

guess  maybe  there's  something  in  it,  for  I 
never  knew  a  man  to  go  to  the  poor-house 
who  hadn't  (hie)  rum  to  blame  for  his  pov- 
erty. But,  you  see,  I'm  interested  in  this 
matter.  I  go  for  keeping  up  the  poor-house 
(hie) ;  for  I  guess  I'm  travelling  that  road, 
and  I  shouldn't  like  to  get  to  the  last  mile- 
stone (hie)  and  find  no  snug  quarters — no 
Uncle  Josh.  You're  safe  for  one  vote,  any- 
how, old  chap,  on  next  election  day  1"  And 
the  man's  broad  hand  slapped  the  member's 
shoulder  again.  "  Huzza  for  the  rummies ! 
That's  (hie)  the  ticket!  Harry  Grimes 
never  deserts  his  friends.  True  as  steel." 

"You're  a  trump !"  returned  Judge  Ly- 
nn an,  with  low  familiarity.  "  Never  fear 
about  the  poor-house  and  Uncle  Josh. 
They're  all  safe." 

"  But  look  here,  judge,"  resumed  the  man. 
"  It  isn't  only  the  poor-house  ;  the  jail  is  to 
go  next." 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes,  that's  their  talk;  and  I  guess  they 
ain't  far  out  of  the  way  neither.  What 
takes  men  to  jail?  You  can  tell  us  some- 
thing about  that,  judge,  for  you've  jugged  a 
good  many  in  your  time.  Didn't  pretty 
much  all  of 'em  drink  rum  (hie)?" 

But  the  judge  answered  nothing. 

"Silence  (hie)  gives  consent,"  resumed 
Grimes.  "And  they  say  more;  once  give 
'em  the  upper  hand — and  they're  confident 
of  beating  us — and  the  court-house  will  be 


136  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

to  let.  As  for  judges  and  lawyers,  they'll 
starve  or  go  into  some  better  business.  So 
you  see  (hie),  judge,  your  liberties  are  in 
danger.  But  fight  hard,  old  fellow,  and  if 
you  must  die  (hie)  die  game  !" 

How  well  Judge  Lyman  relished  this 
mode  of  presenting  the  case  was  not  very 
apparent;  he  was  too  good  a  politician  and 
office-seeker  to  show  any  feeling  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  thus  endanger  a  vote.  Harry 
Grimes's  vote  counted  one,  and  a  single  vote 
sometimes  gained  or  lost  an  election. 

"  One  of  their  gags,"  he  said,  laughing. 
"  But  I'm  too  old  a  stager  not  to  see  the 
flimsiness  of  such  pretensions.  Poverty  and 
crime  have  their  origin  in  the  corrupt  heart, 
and  their  foundations  are  laid  long  and  long 
before  the  first  step  is  taken  on  the  road  to 
inebriety.  It  is  easy  to  promise  results,  for 
only  the  few  look  at  causes  and  trace  them 
to  their  effects." 

"  Rum  and  ruin  (hie).  Are  they  not  cause 
and  effect?"  asked  Grimes. 

"Sometimes  they  are,"  was  the  half- 
extorted  answer. 

"  Oh,  Green  !  is  that  you  ?"  exclaimed  the 
judge,  as  Harvey  Green  came  in  with  a  soft, 
cat-like  step.  He  was  evidently  glad  of  a 
chance  to  get  rid  of  his  familiar  friend  and 
elector. 

I  turned  my  eyes  upon  the  man,  and  read 
his  face  closely.  It  was  unchanged.  The 
same  cold,  sinister  eye ;  the  same  chiselled 


NIGHT  THE  FIFTH.  137 

mouth,  so  firm  now,  and  now  yielding  so 
elastically;  the  same  smile  "from  the  teeth 
outward  — the  same  lines  that  revealed  his 
heart's  deep,  dark  selfishness.  If  he  had 
indulged  in  drink  during  the  five  interven- 
ing years,  it  had  not  corrupted  his  blood, 
nor  added  thereto  a  single  degree  of  heat. 

"Have  you  seen  anything  of  Hammond 
this  evening?"  asked  Judge  Lyman. 

"  I  saw  him  an  hour  or  two  ago,"  answered 
Green. 

"  How  does  he  like  his  new  horse  ?" 

"  He's  delighted  with  him." 

"What  was  the  price?" 

"  Three  hundred  dollars." 

"Indeed!" 

The  judge  had  already  arisen,  and  he  and 
Green  were  now  walking  side  by  side  across 
the  bar-room  floor. 

"I  want  to  speak  a  word  with  you,"  I 
heard  Lyman  say. 

And  then  the  two  went  out  together.  I 
saw  no  more  of  them  during  the  evening. 

Not  long  afterward  Willy  Hammond  came 
in.  Ah  !  there  was  a  sad  change  here ;  a 
change  that  in  no  way  belied  the  words  of 
Matthew  the  bar-keeper.  He  went  up  to 
the  bar,  and  I  heard  him  ask  for  Judge  Ly- 
man. The  answer  was  in  so  low  a  voice 
that  it  did  not  reach  my  ear. 

With  a  quick,  nervous  motion,  Hammond 
threw  his  hand  toward  a  row  of  decanters 
on  the  shelf  behind  the  bar-keeper,  who  im- 


138  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-BOOM. 

mediately  set  one  of  them  containing  brandy 
before  him.  From  this  he  poured  a  tumbler 
half  full,  and  drank  it  off  at  a  single  draught, 
unmixed  with  water. 

He  then  asked  some  further  question, 
which  I  could  not  hear,  manifesting,  as  it 
.appeared,  considerable  excitement  of  mind. 
In  answering  him,  Matthew  glanced  his 
*eyes  upward,  as  if  indicating  some  room  in 
the  house.  The  young  man  then  retired, 
hurriedly,  through  the  sitting-room. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  Willy  Hammond 
^to-night?"  asked  some  one  of  the  bar-keeper. 
"  Who's  he  after  in  such  a  hurry?'' 

"He  wants  to  see  Judge  Lyman,"  replied 
Matthew. 

"  Oh !" 

"I  guess  they're  after  no  good"  was  re- 
marked. 

"  Not  much,  I'm  afraid." 

Two  young  men,  well  dressed,  and  with 
faces  marked  by  intelligence,  came  in  at  the 
moment,  drank  at  the  bar,  chatted  a  little 
while  familiarly  with  the  bar-keeper,  and 
then  quietly  disappeared  through  the  door 
leading  into  the  sitting-room.  I  met  the 
eyes  of  the  man  with  whom  I  had  talked 
during  the  afternoon,  and  his  knowing  wink 
brought  to  mind  his  suggestion  that  in  one 
of  the  upper  rooms  gambling  went  on 
nightly,  and  that  some  of  the  most  promis- 
ing young  men  of  the  town  had  been  drawn, 
\through  the  bar  attraction,  into  this  vortex 


NIGHT  THE  FIFTH.  139 

of  ruin.  I  felt  a  shudder  creeping  along  my 
nerves. 

The  conversation  that  now  went  on  among 
the  company  was  of  such  an  obscene  and 
profane  character  that,  in  disgust,  I  went 
out.  The  night  was  clear,  the  air  soft,  and 
the  moon  shining  down  brightly.  I  walked 
for  some  time  in  the  porch,  musing  on  what 
I  had  seen  and  heard,  while  a  constant 
stream  of  visitors  came  pouring  into  the  bar- 
room. Only  a  few  of  these  remained.  The 
larger  portion  went  in  quickly,  took  their 
glass,  and  then  left,  as  if  to  avoid  observation 
as  much  as  possible. 

Soon  after  I  commenced  walking  in  the 
porch  I  noticed  an  elderly  lady  go  slowly 
by,  who,  in  passing,  slightly  paused,  and  evi- 
dently tried  to  look  through  the  bar-room 
door.  The  pause  was  but  for  an  instant.  In 
less  than  ten  minutes  she  came  back,  again 
stopped — this  time  longer — and  again  moved 
off  slowly,  until  she  passed  out  of  sight.  I 
was  yet  thinking  about  her,  when,  on  lifting 
my  eyes  from  the  ground,  she  was  advancing 
along  the  road,  but  a  few  rods  distant.  I 
almost  started  at  seeing  her,  for  there  no 
longer  remained  a  doubt  on  my  mind  that 
she  was  some  trembling,  heart-sick  mother 
in  search  of  an  erring  son  whose  feet  were 
in  dangerous  paths.  Seeing  me,  she  kept 
on,  though  lingeringly.  She  went  but  a  short 
distance  before  returning ;  and  this  time  she 
moved  in  closer  to  the  house,  and  reached  a 


L40  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

position  that  enabled  her  eyes  to  range 
through  a  large  portion  of  the  bar-room.  A 
nearer  inspection  appeared  to  satisfy  her. 
She  retired  with  quicker  steps,  and  did  not 
again  return  during  the  evening. 

Ah !  what  a  commentary  upon  the  uses 
of  an  attractive  tavern  was  here !  My  heart 
ached  as  I  thought  of  all  that  unknown 
mother  had  suffered,  and  was  doomed  to 
suffer.  I  could  not  shut  out  the  image  of 
her  drooping  form  as  I  lay  upon  my  pillow 
that  night;  she  even  haunted  me  in  my 
dreams. 


NIGHT   THE   SIXTH. 

More  Consequences. 

THE  landlord  did  not  make  his  appear- 
ance on  the  next  morning  until  nearly  ten 
o'clock,  and  then  he  looked  like  a  man  who 
had  been  on  a  debauch.  It  was  eleven  be- 
fore Harvey  Green  came  down.  Nothing 
about  him  indicated  the  smallest  deviation 
from  the  most  orderly  habit.  Clean  shaved, 
with  fresh  linen,  and  a  face  every  line  of 
which  was  smoothed  into  calmness,  he 
looked  as  if  he  had  slept  soundly  on  a  quiet 
conscience,  and  now  hailed  the  new  day 
with  a  tranquil  spirit. 

The  first  act  of  Slade  was  to  go  behind  the 
bar  and  take  a  stiff  glass  of  brandy  and 
water ;  the  first  act  of  Green,  to  order  beef- 
steak and  coffee  for  his  breakfast.  I  noticed 
the  meeting  between  the  two  men,  on  the 
appearance  of  Green.  There  was  a  slight 
reserve  on  the  part  of  Green,  and  an  uneasy 
embarrassment  on  the  part  of  Slade.  Not 
even  the  ghost  of  a  smile  was  visible  in 
either  countenance.  They  spoke  a  few  words 
together,  and  then  separated  as  if  from  a 
sphere  of  mutual  repulsion.  I  did  not  ob- 
.serve  them  again  in  company  during  the 
lay. 

(141) 


142  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

"There's  trouble  over  at  the  mill,"  was 
remarked  by  a  gentleman  with  whom  I  had 
some  business  transactions  in  the  afternoon. 
He  spoke  to  a  person  who  sat  in  his  office, 

"  Ah  !  what's  the  matter  ?"  said  the  other. 

"  All  the  hands  were  discharged  at  noon, 
and  the  mill  ehut  down." 

"  How  comes  that  ?" 

''They've  bten  losing  money  from  the 
Start." 

"  Rather  bad  practice,  I  should  say." 

"  It  involves  some  bad  practices,  no 
doubt." 

"On  Willy's  part?" 

"Yes.  He  is  reported  to  have  squan- 
dered the  means  placed  in  his  hands,  after 
a  shameless  fashion." 

"  Is  the  loss  heavy  ?" 

"  So  it  is  said." 

"  How  much  ?" 

"Reaching  to  thirty  01  forty  thousand 
dollars.  But  this  is  rumor,.  *nd,  of  course, 
an  exaggeration." 

"  Of  course.  No  such  loss  as  that  could 
have  been  made.  But  what  was  done  with  the 
money?  How  could  Willy  have  spent  it? 
He  dashes  about  a  great  deal,  buys  fast 
horses,  drinks  rather  freely,  and  all  that; 
but  thirty  or  forty  thousand  dollars  couldn't 
escape  in  this  way." 

At  the  moment  a  swift  trotting  horse, 
bearing  a  light  sulky  and  a  man,  went  by. 

"There  goes  young    Hammond's    three 


NIGHT  THE  SIXTH.  143 

hundred  dollar  animal,"  said  the  last 
speaker. 

"  It  was  Willy  Hammond's  yesterday. 
But  there  has  been  a  change  of  ownership 
since  then,  I  happen  to  know." 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes.  The  man  Green,  who  has  been 
loafing  about  Cedarville  for  the  last  few 
years — after  no  good,  I  can  well  believe — 
came  into  possession  to-day." 

"  Ah  ?  Willy  must  be  very  fickle-minded. 
Does  the  possession  of  a  coveted  object  so 
soon  bring  satiety  ?" 

"There  is  something  not  clearly  under- 
stood about  the  transaction.  I  saw  Mr.  Ham- 
mond during  the  forenoon,  and  he  looked 
terribly  distressed." 

"  The  embarrassed  condition  of  things  at 
the  mill  readily  accounts  for  this." 

"  True ;  but  I  think  there  are  causes  of 
trouble  beyond  the  mere  embarrassments." 

"  The  dissolute,  spendthrift  habits  of  his 
son,"  was  suggested.  "  These  are  sufficient 
to  weigh  down  the  father's  spirits,1 — to  bow 
him  to  the  very  dust." 

"To  speak  out  plainly,"  said  the  other, 
"  I  am  afraid  that  the  young  man  adds  an- 
other vice  that  of  drinking  and  idleness." 

"What?" 

"Gaming." 

"No!" 

"  There  is  little  doubt  of  it  in  my  mind. 
And  it  is  further  my  opinion,  that  his  fine 


144  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-ROOM. 

horse,  for  which  he  paid  three  hundred  dol- 
lars only  a  few  days  ago,  has  passed  into  the 
hands  of  this  man  Green  in  payment  of  a 
debt  contracted  at  the  gaming  table." 

"  You  shock  me.  Surely,  there  can  be  no 
grounds  for  such  a  belief." 

"  I  have,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  the  gravest 
reasons  for  what  I  allege.  That  Green  is  a 
professional  gambler,  who  was  attracted  here 
by  the  excellent  company  that  assembled  at 
the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf  in  the  beginning  of 
the  lazy  miller's  pauper-making  experi- 
ment, I  do  not  in  the  least  question.  Grant 
this,  and  take  into  account  the  fact  that 
young  Hammond  has  been  much  in  his 
company,  and  you  have  sufficient  cause  for 
the  most  disastrous  effects." 

"  If  this  be  really  so,"  observed  the  gen- 
tleman, over  whose  face  a  shadow  of  con- 
cern darkened,  "  then  Willy  Hammond  may 
not  be  his  only  victim." 

"  And  is  not,  you  may  rest  assured.  If 
rumor  be  true,  other  of  our  promising  young 
men  are  being  drawn  into  the  whirling  cir- 
cles that  narrow  toward  a  vortex  of  ruin." 

In  corroboration  of  this,  I  mentioned  the 
conversation  I  had  held  with  one  of  the  fre- 
quenters of  Slade's  bar-room  on  this  very 
subject;  and  also  what  I  had  myself  ob- 
served on  the  previous  evening. 

The  man,  who  had  until  now  been  sitting 
quietly  in  a  chair,  started  up,  exclaiming  as 
he  did  so — 


NIGHT  THE  SIXTH.  145 

"  Merciful  heavens  !  I  never  dreamed  of 
this !  Whose  sons  are  safe  ?" 

"  No  man's,"  was  the  answer  of  the  gen- 
tleman in  whose  office  we  were  sitting — "  no 
man's — while  there  are  such  open  doors  to 
ruin  as  you  may  find  at  the  '  Sickle  and 
Sheaf.'  Did  not  you  vote  the  anti-temper- 
ance ticket  at  the  last  election?" 

"I  dM,"  was  the  answer;  "and  from 
principle." 

"  On  what  were  your  principles  based?" 
was  inquired. 

"  On  the  broad  foundations  of  civil  lib- 
erty." 

"  The  liberty  to  do  good  or  evil,  just  as 
the  individual  may  choose?" 

"  I  would  not  like  to  say  that.  There  are 
certain  evils  against  which  there  can  be  no 
legislation  that  would  not  do  harm.  No 
civil  power  in  this  country  has  the  right  to 
say  what  a  citizen  shall  eat  or  drink." 

"  But  may  not  the  people,  in  any  commu- 
nity, pass  laws,  through  their  delegated  law- 
makers, restraining  evil-minded  persons 
from  injuring  the  common  good  ?" 

"Oh,  certainly — certainly." 

"  And  are  you  prepared  to  affirm  that  a 
drinking-shop,  where  young  men  are  cor- 
rupted— ay,  destroyed,  body  and  soul — does 
.lot  work  an  injury  to  the  common  good?" 

"  Ah  I  but  there  must  be  houses  of  public 
entertainment." 

"  No  one  denies  this.     But  can  that  be  a 


146  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

really  Christian  community  which  provide* 
for  the  moral  debasement  of  strangers,  at 
the  same  time  that  it  entertains  them  ?  Is 
it  necessary  that,  in  giving  rest  and  enter- 
tainment to  the  traveller,  we  also  lead  him 
into  temptation  ?" 

"Yes — but — but — it  is  going  too  far  to 
legislate  on  what  we  are  to  eat  and  drink. 
It  is  opening  too  wide  a  door  for  fanatical 
oppression.  We  must  inculcate  temperance 
as  a  right  principle.  We  must  teach  our 
children  the  evils  of  intemperance,  and  send 
them  out  into  the  world  as  practical  teachers 
of  order,  virtue  and  sobriety.  If  we  do  this 
the  reform  becomes  radical,  and  in  a  few 
years  there  will  be  no  bar-rooms,  for  none 
will  crave  the  fiery  poison." 

"  Of  little  value,  my  friend,  will  be,  in  far 
too  many  cases,  your  precepts,  if  temptation 
invites  our  sons  at  almost  every  step  of  their 
way  through  life.  Thousands  have  fallen, 
and  thousands  are  now  tottering,  soon  to 
fail.  Your  sons  are  not  safe,  nor  are  mine. 
We  cannot  tell  the  day  nor  the  hour  when 
they  may  weakly  yield  to  the  solicitation  of 
some  companion,  and  enter  the  wide-open 
door  of  ruin.  And  are  we  wise  and  good 
citizens  to  commission  men  to  do  the  evil 
work  of  enticement?  To  encourage  them  to 
get  gain  in  corrupting  and  destroying  our 
children  ?  To  hesitate  over  some  vague  ideal 
of  human  liberty  when  the  sword  is  among 
us,  slaying  our  best  and  dearest  ?  Sir !  while 


NIGHT  THE  SIXTH.  147 

you  hold  back  from  the  work  of  staying  the 
flood  that  is  desolating  our  fairest  homes, 
the  black  waters  are  approaching  your  own 
doors." 

There  was  a  startling  emphasis  in  the 
tones  with  which  this  last  sentence  was  ut- 
tered, and  I  did  not  wonder  at  the  look  of 
anxious  alarm  that  it  called  to  the  face  of 
him  whose  fears  it  was  meant  to  excite. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir?"  was  inquired. 

"Simply,  that  your  sons  are  in  equal  dan- 
ger with  others." 

"And  is  that  all?" 

"  They  have  been  seen  of  late  in  the  bar- 
room of  the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf.'  " 

"Who  says  so?" 

"  Twice  within  a  week  I  have  seen  them 
going  in  there,"  was  answered. 

"  Good  heavens !     No !" 

"It  is  true,  my  friend.  But  who  is  safe?  If 
we  dig  pits,  and  conceal  them  from  view,  what 
marvel  if  our  own  children  fall  therein  ?" 

"  My  sons  going  to  a  tavern  !"  The  man 
seemed  utterly  confounded.  "How  can  I 
believe  it?  You  must  be  in  error,  sir." 

"  No.  What  I  tell  you  is  the  simple  truth. 
And  if  they  go  there — " 

The  man  paused  not  to  hear  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  sentence,  but  went  hastily  from 
the  office. 

"We  are  beginning  to  reap  as  we  have 
sown,"  remarked  the  gentleman,  turning  to 
me  as  his  agitated  friend  left  the  office.  "As 


148  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

I  told  them  in  the  commencement  it  would 
be,  so  it  is  happening.  The  want  of  a  good 
tavern  in  Cedarville  was  over  and  over  again 
alleged  as  one  of  the  chief  causes  of  our  want 
of  thrift,  andwhenSlade  opened  the  'Sickle 
and  Sheaf,'  the  man  was  almost  glorified. 
The  gentleman  who  has  just  left  us  failed 
not  in  laudation  of  the  enterprising  landlord, 
the  more  particularly,  as  the  building  of  the 
new  tavern  advanced  the  price  of  ground  on 
the  street,  and  made  him  a  few  hundred  dol- 
lars richer.  Really,  for  a  time,  one  might 
have  thought,  from  the  way  people  went  on, 
that  Simon  Slade  was  going  to  make  every 
man's  fortune  in  Cedarville.  But  all  that 
has  been  gained  by  a  small  advance  in  prop- 
erty is  as  a  grain  of  sand  to  a  mountain 
compared  with  the  fearful  demoralization 
that  has  followed." 

I  readily  assented  to  this,  for  I  had  myself 
seen  enough  to  justify  the  conclusion. 

As  I  sat  in  the  bar-room  of  the  "  Sickle 
and  Sheaf"  that  evening,  I  noticed,  soon 
after  the  lamps  were  lighted,  the  gentleman 
referred  to  in  the  above  conversation,  whose 
sons  were  represented  as  visitors  to  the  bar, 
come  in  quietly  and  look  anxiously  about 
the  room.  He  spoke  to  no  one,  and  after 
satisfying  himself  that  those  he  sought  were 
not  there,  went  out. 

"  What  sent  him  here,  I  wonder  ?"  mut- 
tered Slade,  speaking  partly  to  himself  and 
partly  aside  to  Matthew,  the  bar-keeper. 


NIGHT  THE  SIXTH,  149 

*'  After  the  boys,  I  suppose,"  was  answered. 

"  I  guess  the  boys  are  old  enough  to  take 
care  of  themselves"." 

"  They  ought  to  be,"  returned  Matthew. 

"  And  are,"  said  Slade.  "  Have  they  been 
here  this  evening?" 

"  No,  not  yet." 

While  they  yet  talked  together,  two  young 
men  whom  I  had  seen  on  the  night  before, 
and  noticed  particularly  as  showing  signs  of 
intelligence  and  respectability  beyond  the 
ordinary  visitors  at  a  bar-room,  came  in. 

"  John,"  I  heard  Slade  say,  in  a  low,  con- 
fidential voice  to  one  of  them, "  your  old  man 
was  here  just  now." 

"  No  !"  The  young  man  looked  startled — 
almost  confounded. 

"  It's  a  fact.    So  you'd  better  keep  shady." 

"What  did  he  want?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?" 

"Nothing.  He  just  came  in,  looked 
around,  and  then  went  out." 

"  His  face  was  dark  as  a  thunder-cloud," 
remarked  Matthew. 

"  Is  No.  4  vacant?"  inquired  one  of  the 
young  men. 

"Yes." 

"  Send  us  up  a  bottle  of  wine  and  some 
cigars.  And  when  Bill  Harding  and  Harry 
Lee  come  in,  tell  them  where  they  can  find 
us." 

"All  right,"  said  Matthew.    "And  now 


150  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

take  a  friend's  advice  and  make  yourselves 
scarce." 

The  young  men  left  the  room  hastily. 
Scarcely  had  they  departed  ere  I  saw  the 
same  gentleman  come  in,  whose  anxious  face 
had,  a  little  while  before,  thrown  its  shadow 
over  the  apartment.  He  was  the  father  in 
search  of  his  sons.  Again  he  glanced 
around,  nervously,  and  this  time  appeared  to 
be  disappointed.  As  he  entered,  Slade  went 
out. 

"  Have  John  and  Wilson  been  here  this 
evening?"  he  asked,  coming  up  to  the  bar 
and  addressing  Matthew. 

"  They  are  not  here,"  replied  Matthew, 
evasively. 

"  But  haven't  they  been  here?" 

"  They  may  have  been  here ;  I  only  came 
in  from  my  supper  a  little  while  ago." 

"  I  thought  I  saw  them  entering  only  a 
moment  or  two  ago." 

"  They're  not  here,  sir."  Matthew  shook 
his  head  and  spoke  firmly. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Slade?" 

"  In  the  house,  somewhere." 

"  I  wish  you  would  ask  him  to  step  here  " 

Matthew  went  out,  but  in  a  little  while 
came  back  with  word  that  the  landlord  was 
not  to  be  found. 

"You  are  sure  the  boys  are  not  here?" 
said  the  man,  with  a  doubting,  dissatisfied 
manner. 

"See  for  yourself,  Mr.  Harrison!" 


NIGHT  THE  SIXTH.  151 

"Perhaps  they  are  in  the  parlor?" 

"Step  in,  sir,"  coolly  returned  Matthew. 
The  man  went  through  the  door  into  the 
sitting-room,  but  came  back  immediately. 

"Not  there?"  said  Matthew.  The  man 
shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  think  you  will 
find  them  about  here,"  added  the  bar-keeper. 

Mr.  Harrison — this  was  the  name  by 
which  Matthew  had  addressed  him — stood 
musing  and  irresolute  for  some  minutes. 
He  could  not  be  mistaken  about  the  entrance 
of  his  sons,  and  yet  they  were  not  there. 
His  manner  was  much  perplexed.  At  length 
he  took  a  seat,  in  a  far  corner  of  the  bar- 
room, somewhat  beyond  the  line  of  observa- 
tion, evidently  with  the  purpose  of  waiting 
to  see  if  those  he  sought  would  come  in. 
He  had  not  been  there  long  before  two 
young  men  entered,  whose  appearance  at 
once  excited  his  interest.  They  went  up  to 
the  bar  and  called  for  liquor.  As  Matthew 
set  the  decanter  before  him,  he  leaned  over 
the  counter  and  said  something  in  a  whis- 
per. 

"Where?"  was  instantly  ejaculated,  in 
surprise,  and  both  of  the  young  men  glanced 
uneasily  about  the  room.  They  met  the 
eyes  of  Mr.  Harrison,  fixed  intently  upon 
them.  I  do  not  think,  from  the  way  they 
swallowed  their  brandy  and  water,  that  it 
was  enjoyed  very  much. 

"  What  the  deuce  is  he  doing  here  ?"  I 
heard  one  of  them  say,  in  a  low  voice. 


152  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

"  After  the  boys,  of  course." 

"  Have  they  come  yet?" 

Matthew  winked  as  he  answered,  "  All 
safe." 

"In  No.  4?" 

"  Yes.  And  the  wine  and  cigars  all  wait- 
ing for  you." 

"  Good." 

"You'd  better  not  go  through  the  parlor. 
Their  old  man's  not  at  all  satisfied.  He 
half  suspects  they're  in  the  house.  Better 
go  off  down  the  street,  and  come  back  and 
enter  through  the  passage." 

The  young  men,  acting  on  this  hint,  at 
once  retired,  the  eyes  of  Harrison  following 
them  out. 

For  nearly  an  hour  Mr.  Harrison  kept  his 
position,  a  close  observer  of  all  that  trans- 
pired. I  am  very  much  in  error,  if,  before 
leaving  that  sink  of  iniquity,  he  was  not 
fully  satisfied  as  to  the  propriety  of  legislat- 
ing on  the  liquor  question.  Nay,  I  incline 
to  the  opinion  that,  if  the  power  of  suppres- 
sion had  rested  in  his  hands,  there  would 
not  have  been,  in  the  whole  State,  at  the 
expiration  of  an  hour,  a  single  dram-selling 
establishment.  The  goring  of  his  ox  had 
opened  his  eyes  to  the  true  merits  of  the 
question.  While  he  was  yet  in  the  bar- 
room, young  Hammond  made  his  appear- 
ance. His  look  was  wild  and  excited.  First 
he  called  for  brandy,  and  drank  with  the 
eagerness  of  a  man  long  athirst. 


NIGHT  THE  SIXTH.  153 

"  Where  is  Green  ?"  I  heard  him  inquire, 
as  he  set  his  glass  upon  the  counter. 

"  Haven't  seen  anything  of  him  since  sup- 
per," was  answered  by  Matthew. 

"  Is  he  in  his  room  ?" 

"  I  think  it,  probable." 

"  Has  Judge  Lyman  been  about  here  to- 
night?" 

"  Yes.  He  spouted  here  for  half  an  hour 
against  the  temperance  party,  as  usual,  and 
then" — Matthew  tossed  his  head  toward  the 
door  leading  to  the  sitting-room. 

Hammond  was  moving  toward  this  door, 
when,  in  glancing  around  the  room,  he  en- 
countered the  fixed  gaze  of  Mr.  Harrison — a 
gaze  that  instantly  checked  his  progress. 
Returning  to  the  bar,  and  leaning  over  the 
counter,  he  said  to  Matthew, 

"  What  has  sent  him  here  ?" 

Matthew  winked  knowingly. 

"  After  the  boys  ?"  inquired  Hammond. 

"  Yes." 

"  Where  are  they  ?" 

"Upstairs." 

"  Does  he  suspect  this  ?" 

"I  can't  tell.  If  he  doesn't  think  them 
here  now,  he  is  looking  for  them  to  come 
in." 

"  Do  they  know  he  is  after  them  ?" 

"  O  yes." 

"  All  safe  then  ?» 

"  As  an  iron  chest.  If  you  want  to  see 
them,  just  rap  at  No.  4." 


154  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

Hammond  stood  for  some  minutes  lean- 
ing  on  the  bar,  and  then,  not  once  again 
looking  toward  that  part  of  the  room  where 
Mr.  Harrison  was  seated,  passed  out  through 
the  door  leading  to  the  street.  Soon  after- 
ward Mr.  Harrison  departed. 

Disgusted,  as  on  the  night  before,  with 
the  unceasing  flow  of  vile,  obscene,  and  pro- 
fane language,  I  left  my  place  of  observa- 
tion in  the  bar-room  and  sought  the  open 
air.  The  sky  was  unobscured  by  a  single 
cloud,  and  the  moon,  almost  at  the  full, 
shone  abroad  with  more  than  common 
brightness.  I  had  not  been  sitting  long  in 
the  porch,  when  the  same  lady,  whose  move- 
ments had  attracted  my  attention,  came  in 
sight,  walking  very  slowly — the  deliberate 
pace  assumed,  evidently,  for  the  purpose  of 
better  observation.  On  coming  opposite  the 
tavern,  she  slightly  paused,  as  on  the  even- 
ing before,  and  then  kept  on,  passing  down 
the  street,  until  she  was  beyond  observation. 

"Poor  mother!"  I  was  still  repeating  to 
myself,  when  her  form  again  met  my  eyes. 
Slowly  she  advanced,  and  now  came  nearer 
to  the  house.  The  interest  excited  in  my 
mind  was  so  strong  that  I  could  not  repress 
the  desire  I  felt  to  address  her,  and  so  stepped 
from  the  shadow  of  the  porch.  She  seemed 
startled,  and  retreated  backward  several 
paces. 

"Are  you  in  search  of  any  one?1'  I  in- 
quired, respectfully. 


NIGHT  THE  SIXTH.  155 

<* 

The  woman  now  stood  in  a  position  that 
let  the  moon  shine  full  upon  her  face,  re- 
vealing every  feature.  She  was  far  past  the 
meridian  of  life ;  and  there  were  lines  of 
suffering  and  sorrow  on  her  fine  counte- 
nance. I  saw  that  her  lips  moved,  but  it 
was  some  time  before  I  distinguished  the 
words. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  son  to-night  ?  They 
say  he  comes  here." 

The  manner  in  which  this  was  said  caused 
a  cold  thrill  to  run  over  me.  I  perceived 
that  the  woman's  mind  wandered.  I  an- 
swered— 

"  No,  ma'am ;  I  haven't  seen  anything 
of  him." 

My  tone  of  voice  seemed  to  inspire  her 
with  confidence,  for  she  came  up  close  to 
me,  and  bent  her  face  toward  mine. 

"  It's  a  dreadful  place,"  she  whispered, 
huskily.  *'  And  they  say  he  comes  here. 
Poor  boy  1  He  isn't  what  he  used  to  be." 

"  It  is  a  very  bad  place."  said  I.  "  Come" 
— and  I  moved  a  step  or  two  in  the  direction 
from  which  I  had  seen  her  approaching — 
"  come,  you'd  better  go  away  as  quickly  as 
possible.'" 

"But  if  he's  here,"  she  answered,  not 
moving  from  where  she  stood,  "  I  might  save 
him,  you  know." 

"  I  am  sure  you  won't  find  him,  ma'am," 
I  urged.  "  Perhaps  he  is  home,  now." 

"Oh,  no  I  no!"    And  she  shook  her  head 


156  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAE-EOOM. 

mournfully.  "  He  never  comes  home  until 
long  after  midnight.  I  wish  I  could  see  in- 
side of  the  bar-room.  I'm  sure  he  must  be 
there." 

"  If  you  will  tell  me  his  name  I  will  go  in 
and  search  for  him." 

After  a  moment  of  hesitation,  she  an- 
swered, 

"  His  name  is  Willy  Hammond." 

How  the  name,  uttered  so  sadly,  and  yet 
with  such  moving  tenderness  by  the  mother's 
lips,  caused  me  to  start — almost  to  tremble. 

"  If  he  is  in  the  house,  ma'am,"  said  I, 
firmly,  "  I  will  see  him  for  you."  And  I  left 
her  and  went  into  the  bar. 

"  In  what  room  do  you  think  I  will  find 
young  Hammond?"  I  asked  of  the  bar- 
keeper. 

He  looked  at  me  curiously,  but  did  not 
answer.  The  question  had  come  upon  him 
unanticipated. 

"  In  Harvey  Green's  room  ?"  I  pursued. 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure.  He  isn't  in 
the  house  to  my  knowledge.  I  saw  him  go 
out  about  half  an  hour  since.'' 

"  Green's  room  is  No.—  ?" 

"  Eleven,"  he  answered. 

"  In  the  front  part  of  the  house  ?" 

"  Yes." 

I  asked  no  further  question,  but  went  to 
No.  11,  and  tapped  on  the  door.  But  no 
one  answered  the  summons.  I  listened,  but 
could  not  distinguish  the  slightest  sound 


NIGHT  THE  SIXTH.  157 

within.  Again  I  knocked  ;  but  louder.  If 
my  ears  did  not  deceive  me,  the  chink  of 
coin  was  heard.  Still  there  was  neither 
voice  nor  movement. 

I  was  disappointed.  That  the  room  had 
inmates,  I  felt  sure.  Remembering,  now, 
what  I  had  heard  about  light  being  seen  in 
this  room  through  a  rent  in  the  curtain,  I 
went  down-stairs,  and  out  into  the  street 
A  short  distance  beyond  the  house  I  saw, 
dimly,  the  woman's  form.  She  had  only 
just  passed  in  her  movements  to  and  fro. 
Glancing  up  at  the  window,  which  I  now 
knew  to  be  the  one  in  Green's  room,  light 
through  the  torn  curtain  was  plainly  visi- 
ble. Back  into  the  house  I  went,  and  up  to 
No.  11.  This  time  I  knocked  imperatively, 
and  this  time  made  myself  heard. 

"  What's  wanted  ?"  came  from  within.  I 
knew  the  voice  to  be  that  of  Harvey  Green. 

I  only  knocked  louder.  A  hurried  move- 
ment and  a  low  murmur  of  voices  was  heard 
for  some  moments ;  then  the  door  was  un- 
locked and  held  partly  open  by  Green, 
whose  body  so  filled  the  narrow  aperture 
that  I  could  not  look  into  the  room.  See- 
ing me,  a  dark  scowl  fell  upon  his  counte- 
nance. 

"  What  d'ye  want  ?"  he  inquired,  sharply. 

tc  Is  Mr.  Hammond  here  ?  If  so,  he  is 
wanted  down-stairs." 

"  No,  he's  not,"  was  the  quick  answer. 
a  What  sent  you  here  for  him,  hey  ?" 


158  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

"  The  fact  that  I  expected  to  find  him  in 
your  room,"  was  my  firm  answer. 

Green  was  about  shutting  the  door  in  my 
face,  when  some  one  placed  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder  and  said  something  to  him  that  I 
could  not  hear. 

"  Who  wants  to  see  him  ?"  he  inquired  of 
me. 

Satisfied,  now,  that  Hammond  was  in  the 
room,  I  said,  slightly  elevating  my  voice, 

"  His  mother." 

The  words  were  an  "open  sesame"  to  the 
room.  The  door  was  suddenly  jerked  open, 
and  with  a  blanching  face  the  young  man 
confronted  me. 

"  Who  says  my  mother  is  down-stairs  ?9 
he  demanded. 

"  I  come  from  her  in  search  of  you,"  said 
I.  "You  will  find  her  in  the  road,  walking 
up  and  down  in  front  of  the  tavern." 

Almost  with  a  bound  he  swept  by  me, 
and  descended  the  stairway  at  two  or  three 
long  strides.  As  the  door  swung  open,  I 
saw,  besides  Green  and  Hammond,  the  land- 
lord and  Judge  Lyman.  It  needed  not  the 
loose  cards  on  a  table  near  which  the  latter 
were  sitting  to  tell  me  of  their  business  in 
that  room. 

AB  quickly  as  seemed  decorous,  I  followed 
Hammond.  On  the  porch  I  met  him, 'com- 
ing in  from  the  road. 

"  You  have  deceived  me,  sir,'*  said  he, 
sternly — almost  menacingly. 


NIGHT  TEE  SITU  *..  159 

"No,  sir,"  I  replied.  "What  I  told  you 
was  but  too  true.  Look !  There  she  is  now." 

The  young  man  sprung  around,  and  stood 
before  the  woman,  a  few  paces  distant. 

"  Mother !  oh,  mother !  what  has  brought 
you  here?"  he  exclaimed,  in  an  undertone, 
as  he  caught  her  arm,  and  moved  away.  He 
spoke — not  roughly,  nor  angrily — but  with 
respect — half  reproachfulness — and  an  un- 
mistakable tenderness. 

"Oh,  Willy!  Willy  I"  I  heard  her  answer. 
"Somebody  said  you  came  here  at  night, 
and  I  couldn't  rest.  Oh,  dear!  They'll 
murder  you!  I  know  they  will.  Don't, 
oh!—" 

My  ears  took  in  the  sense  no  further, 
though  her  pleading  voice  still  reached  my 
ears.  A  few  moments,  and  they  were  out 
of  sight. 

Nearly  two  hours  afterward,  as  I  was  as- 
cending to  my  chamber,  a  man  brushed 
quickly  by  me.  I  glanced  after  him,  and 
recognized  the  person  of  young  Hammond. 
He  was  going  to  the  room  of  Har^v  Green ! 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH. 

Sowing  the  Wind. 

THE  state  of  affairs  in  Cedarville,  it  waa 
plain,  from  the  partial  glimpses  I  had  re- 
ceived, was  rather  desperate.  Desperate,  I 
mean,  as  regarded  the  .various  parties 
brought  before  my  observation.  An  eating 
cancer  was  on  the  community,  and  so  far  as 
the  eye  could  mark  its  destructive  progress, 
the  ravages  were  fearful.  That  its  roots 
were  striking  deep,  and  penetrating,  con- 
cealed from  view,  in  many  unsuspected  di- 
rections, there  could  be  no  doubt.  What 
appeared  on  the  surface  was  but  a  milder 
form  of  the  disease,  compared  with  its  hid- 
den, more  vital,  and  more  dangerous  ad- 
vances. 

I  could  not  but  feel  a  strong  interest  in 
some  of  these  parties.  The  case  of  young 
Hammond  had  from  the  first  awakened  con- 
cern ;  and  now  a  new  element  was  added  in 
the  unlooked-for  appearance  of  his  mother 
on  the  stage,  in  a  state  that  seemed  one  of 
partial  derangement.  The  gentleman  at 
whose  office  I  met  Mr.  Harrison  on  the  day 
before — the  reader  will  remember  Mr.  H. 
as  having  come  to  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf" 
in  search  of  his  sons — was  thoroughly  con- 
(160) 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  161 

versant  with  the  affairs  of  the  village,  and  I 
called  upon  him  early  in  the  day  in  order  to 
make  some  inquiries  about  Mrs.  Hammond. 
My  first  question,  as  to  whether  he  knew  the 
lady,  was  answered  by  the  remark — 

"Oh,  yes.  She  is  one  of  my  earliest 
friends." 

The  allusion  to  her  did  not  seem  to 
awaken  agreeable  states  of  mind.  A  slight 
shade  obscured  his  face,  and  I  noticed  that 
he  sighed  involuntarily. 

"  Is  Willy  her  only  child  ?" 

"  Her  only  living  child.  She  had  four ; 
another  son  and  two  daughters ;  but  she  lost 
all  but  Willy  when  they  were  quite  young. 
And,"  he  added,  after  a  pause — "it  would 
have  been  better  for  her,  and  for  Willy  too, 
if  he  had  gone  to  the  better  land  with  them." 

"  His  course  of  life  must  be  to  her  a  terri- 
ble affliction,"  said  I. 

"  It  is  destroying  her  reason,"  he  replied, 
with  emphasis.  "He  was  her  idol.  No 
mother  ever  loved  a  son  with  more  self-de- 
votion than  Mrs.  Hammond  loved  her  beau- 
tiful, fine-spirited,  intelligent,  affectionate 
boy.  To  say  that  she  was  proud  of  him,  is 
but  a  tame  expression.  Intense  love — al- 
most idolatry — was  the  strong  passion  of 
her  heart.  How  tender,  how  watchful  was 
her  love !  Except  when  at  school,  he  was 
scarcely  ever  separated  from  her.  In  order 
to  keep  him  by  her  side,  she  gave  up  her 
thoughts  to  the  suggestion  and  maturing  of 
F 


162  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

plans  for  keeping  his  mind  active  and  inter- 
ested in  her  society — and  her  success  was 
perfect.  Up  to  the  age  of  sixteen  or  seven- 
teen, I  do  not  think  he  had  a  desire  for 
other  companionship  than  that  of  his 
mother.  But  this,  you  know,  could  not 
last.  The  boy's  maturing  thought  must  go 
beyond  the  home  and  social  circle.  The 
great  world,  that  he  was  soon  to  enter,  was 
before  him ;  and  through  loopholes  that 
opened  here  and  there  he  obtained  partial 
.glimpses  of  what  was  beyond.  To  step 
forth  into  this  world  where  he  was  soon  to 
be  a  busy  actor  and  worker,  and  to  step 
forth  alone,  next  came  in  the  natural  order 
of  progress.  How  his  mother  trembled 
with  anxiety  as  she  saw  him  leave  her  side. 
Of  the  dangers  that  would  surround  his 
path,  she  knew  too  well ;  and  these  were 
magnified  by  her  fears — at  least  so  I  often 
said  to  her.  Alas !  how  far  the  sad  reality 
has  outrun  her  most  fearful  anticipations. 

"  When  Willy  was  eighteen — he  was  then 
reading  law— I  think  I  never  saw  a  young 
man  of  fairer  promise.  As  I  have  often 
heard  it  remarked  of  him,  he  did  not  appear 
to  have  a  single  fault.  But  he  had  a  dan- 
gerous gift — rare  conversational  powers, 
united  with  great  urbanity  of  manner. 
Every  one  who  made  his  acquaintance  be- 
came charmed  with  his  society  ;  and  he  soon 
found  himself  surrounded  by  a  circle  of 
young  men,  some  of  whom  were  not  the  best 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  163- 

companions  he  might  have  chosen.  Still, 
his  own  pure  instincts  and  honorable  prin- 
ciples were  his  safeguard  ;  and  I  never  have 
believed  that  any  social  allurements  would 
have  drawn  him  away  from  the  right  path 
if  this  accursed  tavern  had  not  been  opened 
by  Slade." 

"There  was    a  tavern    here    before    the 
'Sickle  and  Sheaf  was  opened,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  yes.  But  it  was  badly  kept,  and  the 
bar-room  visitors  were  of  the  lowest  class. 
No  respectable  young  man  in  Cedarville 
would  have  been  seen  there.  It  offered  na 
temptations  to  one  moving  in  Willy's  circle. 
But  the  opening  of  the  'Sickle  and  Sheaf  * 
formed  a  new  era.  Judge  Hammond — him- 
self not  the  purest  man  in  the  world,  I'm 
afraid — gave  his  countenance  to  the  estab- 
lishment, and  talked  of  Simon  Slade  as  an 
enterprising  man  who  ought  to  be  encour- 
aged. Judge  Lyman  and  other  men  of  posi- 
tion in  Cedarville  followed  his  bad  example 
and  the  bar-room  of  the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf 
was  at  once  voted  respectable.  At  all  times 
of  the  day  and  evening  you  could  see  the 
flower  of  our  young  men  going  in  and  out, 
sitting  in  front  of  the  bar-room,  or  talking 
hand  and  glove  with  the  landlord,  who,  from 
a  worthy  miller,  regarded  as  well  enough  in 
his  place,  was  suddenly  elevated  into  a  man 
of  importance,  Avhom  the  best  in  the  village 
were  delighted  to  honor. 

"  In  the  beginning  Willy  went  with  thp 


164  TEN  NIGHT*  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

tide,  and  in  an  incredibly  short  period  was 
acquiring  a  fondness  for  drink  that  startled 
and  alarmed  his  friends.  In  going  in 
through  Blade's  open  door  he  entered  the 
•downward  way,  and  has  been  moving  onward 
with  fleet  footsteps  ever  since.  The  fiery 
poison  inflamed  his  mind  at  the  same  time 
that  it  dimmed  his  noble  perceptions.  Fond- 
ness for  mere  pleasure  followed,  and  this  led 
him  into  various  sensual  indulgences  and 
exciting  modes  of  passing  the  time.  Every 
one  liked  him — he  was  so  free,  so  compan- 
ionable, and  so  generous — and  almost  every 
one  encouraged,  rather  than  repressed,  his 
dangerous  proclivities.  Even  his  father  for 
-a  time  treated  the  matter  lightly,  as  only  the 
first  flush  of  young  life.  '  I  commenced 
sowing  my  wild  oats  at  quite  as  early  an 
age,'  I  have  heard  him  say.  '  He'll  cool  off, 
and  do  well  enough.  Never  fear.'  But  his 
mother  was  in  a  state  of  painful  alarm  from 
the  beginning.  Her  truer  instincts,  made 
doubly  acute  by  her  yearning  love,  perceived 
the  imminent  danger,  and  in  all  possible 
ways  did  she  seek  to  lure  him  from  the  path 
in  which  he  was  moving  at  so  rapid  a  pace. 
Willy  was  always  very  much  attached  to  his 
mother,  and  her  influence  over  him  was 
strong;  but  in  this  case  he  regarded  her 
fears  as  chimerical.  The  way  in  which  he 
walked  was  to  him  so  pleasant,  and  the 
companions  of  his  journey  so  delightful,  that 
he  could  not  believe  in  the  prophesied  evil; 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  165> 

and  when  his  mother  talked  to  him  in  her 
warning  voice,  and  with  a  sad  countenance, 
lie  smiled  at  her  concern  and  made  light  of 
her  fears. 

"  And  so  it  went  on,  month  after  month, 
and  year  after  year,  until  the  young  man's 
sad  declensions  were  the  town  talk.  In. 
order  to  throw  his  mind  into  a  new  channel 
— to  awaken,  if  possible,  a  new  and  better 
interest  in  life — his  father  ventured  upon, 
the  doubtful  experiment  we  spoke  of  yester- 
day: that  of  placing  capital  in  his  hands, 
and  making  him  an  equal  partner  in  the 
business  of  distilling  and  cotton-spinning. 
The  disastrous — I  might  say  disgraceful  re- 
sult— you.  know.  The  young  man  squan- 
dered his  own  capital,  and  heavily  embar- 
rassed his  father. 

"  The  effect  of  all  this  upon  Mrs.  Ham- 
mond has  been  painful  in  the  extreme.  We 
can  only  dimly  imagine  the  terrible  suffer- 
ing through  which  she  has  passed.  Her 
present  aberration  was  first  visible  after  a 
long  period  of  sleeplessness,  occasioned  by 
distress  of  mind.  During  the  whole  of  two 
weeks,  I  am  told,  she  did  not  close  her  eyes; 
the  most  of  that  time  walking  the  floor  of 
her  chamber  and  weeping.  Powerful  ano- 
dynes, frequently  repeated,  at  length  brought 
relief.  But  when  she  awoke  from  a  pro- 
longed period  of  unconsciousness,  the  bright- 
ness of  her  reason  was  gone.  Since  then 
she  has  never  been  clearly  conscious  of  what 


166  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

•was  passing  around  her ;  and  well  for  her,  I 
have  sometimes  thought  it  was,  for  even 
obscurity  of  intellect  is  a  blessing  in  her 
case.  Ah  me !  I  always  get  the  heartache 
when  I  think  of  her." 

"  Did  not  this  event  startle  the  young  man 
from  his  fatal  dream,  if  I  may  so  call  his 
mad  infatuation  ?"  I  asked. 

"  No.  He  loved  his  mother,  and  was 
deeply  afflicted  by  the  calamity ;  but  it 
.seemed  as  if  he  could  not  stop.  Some  ter- 
rible necessity  appeared  to  be  impelling  him 
onward.  If  he  formed  good  resolutions — 
and  I  doubt  not  that  he  did — they  were 
blown  away  like  threads  of  gossamer  the 
moment  he  came  within  the  sphere  of  old 
associations.  His  way  to  the  mill  was  by 
the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf;'  and  it  was  not  easy 
for  him  to  pass  there  without  being  drawn 
into  the  bar,  either  by  his  own  desire  for 
•drink,  or  through  the  invitation  of  some 
pleasant  companion  who  was  lounging  in 
front  of  the  tavern." 

"  There  may  have  been  something  even 
more  impelling  than  his  love  of  drink,"  said 

'"What?" 

I  related,  briefly,  the  occurrences  of  the 
preceding  night. 

"I  feared — nay,  I  was  certain — that  he 
was  in  the  toils  of  this  man.  And  yet  your 
confirmation  of  the  fact  startles  and  con- 
founds me,"  said  he,  moving  about  his  office 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  16T 

in  a  disturbed  manner.  "  If  my  mind  has 
questioned  and  doubted  in  regard  to  young 
Hammond,  it  questions  and  doubts  na 
longer.  The  word  'mystery'  is  not  now 
written  over  the  door  of  his  habitation. 
Great  Father !  and  is  it  thus  that  our  young 
men  are  led  into  temptation ;  thus  that  their 
ruin  is  premeditated,  secured ;  thus  that  the 
fowler  is  permitted  to  spread  his  net  in  the 
open  day,  and  the  destroyer  licensed  to  work 
ruin  in  darkness?  It  is  awful  to  contem- 
plate!" 

The  man  was  strongly  excited. 

"  Thus  it  is,"  he  continued ;  "and  we  who* 
see  the  whole  extent,  origin,  and  downward 
rushing  force  of  a  widely  sweeping  desola- 
tion, lift  our  voices  of  warning  almost  in, 
vain.  Men  who  have  everything  at  stake — 
sons  to  be  corrupted  and  daughters  to  be- 
come the  wives  of  young  men  exposed  to- 
corrupting  influences — stand  aloof,  question- 
ing and  doubting  as  to  the  expediency  of 
protecting  the  innocent  from  the  wolfish  de- 
signs of  bad  men,  who,  to  compass  their 
own  selfish  ends,  would  destroy  them  body 
and  soul.  We  are  called  fanatics,  ultraists, 
designing,  and  all  that,  because  we  ask  our 
law-makers  to  stay  the  fiery  ruin.  Oh,  no ! 
we  must  not  touch  the  traffic.  All  the  dearest 
and  best  interests  of  society  may  suffer,  but 
the  rum-seller  must  be  protected.  He  must 
be  allowed  to  get  gain,  if  the  jails  and  poor- 
houses  are  filled  and  the  graveyards  made 


168  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

fat  with  the  bodies  of  young  men  stricken 
down  in  the  flower  of  their  years,  and  of 
wives  and  mothers  who  have  died  of  broken 
hearts.  Reform,  we  are  told,  must  commence 
at  home.  We  must  rear  temperate  children, 
and  then  we  shall  have  temperate  men. 
That  when  there  are  none  to  desire  liquor, 
the  rum-seller's  traffic  will  cease.  And  all 
the  while  society's  true  benefactors  are  en- 
gaged in  doing  this,  the  weak,  the  unsus- 
pecting, and  the  erring  must  be  left  an  easy 
prey,  even  if  the  work  requires  for  its  accom- 
plishment a  hundred  years.  Sir !  a  human 
soul  destroyed  through  the  rum-seller's  in- 
fernal agency  is  a  sacrifice  priceless  in  value. 
No  considerations  of  worldly  gain  can,  for 
an  instant,  be  placed  in  comparison  there- 
with. And  yet  souls  are  destroyed  by  thou- 
sands every  year ;  and  they  will  fall  by  tens 
of  thousands  ere  society  awakens  from  its 
fatal  indifference  and  lays  its  strong  hand 
of  power  on  the  corrupt  men  who  are  scat- 
tering disease,  ruin  and  death  broadcast  over 
the  land ! 

"  I  always  get  warm  on  this  subject,"  he 
added,  repressing  his  enthusiasm.  "  And 
who  that  observes  and  reflects  can  help  grow- 
ing excited  ?  The  evil  is  appalling,  and  the 
indifference  of  the  community  one  of  the 
strangest  facts  of  the  day." 

While  he  was  yet  speaking,  the  elder  Mr. 
Hammond  came  in.  He  looked  wretched. 
The  redness  and  humidity  of  his  eves 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  169 

showed  want  of  sleep,  and  the  relaxed  mus- 
cles of  his  face  exhaustion  from  weariness 
and  suffering.  He  drew  the  person  with 
whom  I  had  been  talking  aside,  and  contin- 
ued in  earnest  conversation  with  him  for 
many  minutes — often  gesticulating  violently. 
I  could  see  his  face,  though  I  heard  nothing 
of  what  he  said.  The  play  of  his  features 
was  painful  to  look  upon,  for  every  changing 
muscle  showed  a  new  phase  of  mental  suf- 
fering. 

"  Try  and  see  him,  will  you  not  ?"  he  said, 
as  he  turned,- at  length,  to  leave  the  office. 

"  I  will  go  there  immediately,"  was 
answered. 

"  Bring  him  home,  if  possible." 

"  My  very  best  efforts  shall  be  made." 

Judge  Hammond  bowed,  and  went  out 
hurriedly. 

"  Do  you  know  the  number  of  the  room 
occupied  by  the  man  Green?"  asked  the 
gentleman  as  soon  as  his  visitor  had  retired. 

"Yes.     It  is  No.  11." 

"Willy  has  not  been  home  since  last 
night.  His  father,  at  this  late  day,  suspects 
Green  to  be  a  gambler.  The  truth  flashed 
upon  him  only  yesterday;  and  this,  added 
to  his  other  sources  of  trouble,  is  driving 
him,  so  he  says,  almost  mad.  As  a  friend, 
he  wishes  me  to  go  to  the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf* 
and  try  and  find  Willy.  Have  you  seen 
anything  of  him  this  morning  ?n 

I  answered  in  the  negative. 


170  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-BOOM. 

"Nor  of  Green?" 

"  No." 

"  Was  Slade  about  when  you  left  the  tav- 
ern?" 

"  I  saw  nothing  of  him." 

"  What  Judge  Hammond  fears  may  be  all 
too  true — that  in  the  present  condition  of 
Willy's  affairs,  which  have  reached  the  point 
of  disaster,  his  tempter  means  to  secure  the 
largest  possible  share  of  property  yet  in  his 
power  to  pledge  or  transfer;  to  squeeze  from 
his  victim  the  last  drop  of  blood  that  re- 
mains, and  then  fling  him  ruthlessly  from 
his  hands." 

"The  young  man  must  have  been  ren- 
dered almost  desperate,  or  he  would  never 
have  returned  as  he  did  last  night.  Did  you 
mention  this  to  his  father?" 

"  No.  It  would  have  distressed  him  the 
more  without  effecting  any  good.  He  is 
wretched  enough.  But  time  passes,  and 
none  is  to  be  lost  now.  Will  you  go  with 
me?" 

I  walked  to  the  tavern  with  him,  and  we 
went  into  the  bar  together.  Two  or  three 
men  were  at  the  counter,  drinking. 

"  Is  Mr.  Green  about  this  morning  ?"  was 
asked  by  the  person  who  had  come  in  search 


of  young  Hammond. 
"  Haven' 


t  seen  anything  of  him." 
"Is  he  in  his  room?" 
"I  don't  know." 
"  Will  you  ascertain  for  me  ?" 


NIGHT  THE  SE  VENTH.  171 

"  Certainly.  Frank," — and  he  spoke  to 
the  landlord's  son,  who  was  lounging  on  a 
settee, — "  I  wish  you  would  see  if  Mr.  Green 
is  in  his  room." 

"  Go  and  see  yourself.  I'm  not  your 
waiter,"  was  growled  back,  in  an  ill-natured 
voice. 

"  In  a  moment  I'll  ascertain  for  you,35 
said  Matthew,  politely. 

After  waiting  on  some  new  customers, 
who  were  just  entering,  Matthew  went  up- 
stairs to  obtain  the  desired  information. 
As  he  left  the  bar-room,  Frank  got  up  and 
went  behind  the  counter,  where  he  mixed 
himself  a  glass  of  liquor,  and  drank  it  off, 
evidently  with  real  enjoyment. 

"  Rather  a  dangerous  business  for  one  so 
young  as  you  are,"  remarked  the  gentleman 
with  whom  I  had  come,  as  Frank  stepped 
out  of  the  bar  and  passed  near  where  we 
were  standing.  The  only  answer  to  this  was 
an  ill-natured  frown,  and  an  expression  of 
face  which  said,  almost  as  plainly  as  words, 
"  It's  none  of  your  business." 

"  Not  there,"  said  Matthew,  now  coming 
in. 

"Are  you  certain?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

But  there  was  a  certain  involuntary  hesi- 
tation in  the  barkeeper's  manner  which  led 
to  a  suspicion  that  his  answer  was  not  in 
accordance  with  the  truth.  We  walked  out 
together,  conferring  on  the  subject,  and  both 


172  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-ROOM. 

concluded  that  his  word  was  not  to  be  re- 
lied upon. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?"  was  asked. 

"  Go  to  Green's  room,"  I  replied,  "  and 
knock  at  the  door.  If  he  is  there,  he  may 
answer,  not  suspecting  your  errand." 

"  Show  me  the  room." 

I  went  with  him,  and  pointed  out  No.  11. 
He  knocked  lightly,  but  there  came  no 
sound  from  within.  He  repeated  the  knock ; 
all  was  silent.  Again  and  again  he  knocked, 
but  there  came  back  only  a  hollow  reverbe- 
ration. 

"There's  no  one  there,"  said  he,  return- 
ing to  where  I  stood,  and  we  walked  down- 
stairs together.  On  the  landing,  as  we 
reached  the  lower  passage,  we  met  Mrs. 
Slade.  I  had  not,  during  this  visit  at  Ce- 
darville,  stood  face  to  face  with  her  before. 
Oh !  what  a  wreck  she  presented,  with  her 
pale,  shrunken  countenance,  hollow,  lustre- 
less eyes,  and  bent,  feeble  body.  I  almost 
shuddered  as  I  looked  at  her.  What  a 
haunting  and  sternly  rebuking  spectre  she 
must  have  moved,  daily,  before  the  eyes  of 
her  husband. 

"  Have  you  noticed  Mr.  Green  about,  this 
morning  ?"  I  asked. 

"  He  hasn't  come  down  from  his  room 
yet,"  she  replied. 

"  Are  you  certain  ?"  said  my  companion. 
"I  knocked  several  times  at  the  door  just 
now,  but  received  no  answer." 


NIGHT  TEE  SEVENTH.  173 

"  What  do  you  want  with  him  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Slade,  fixing  her  eyes  upon  us. 

"  We  are  in  search  of  Willy  Hammond, 
and  it  has  been  suggested  that  he  is  with 
Green." 

"  Knock  twice  lightly,  and  then  three 
times  more  firmly," said  Mrs.  Slade;  and  as 
she  spoke  she  glided  past  us  with  a  noiseless 
tread. 

"  Shall  we  go  up  together?" 

I  did  not  object,  for,  although  I  had  no 
delegated  right  of  intrusion,  my  feelings 
were  so  much  excited  in  the  case  that  I  went 
forward,  scarcely  reflecting  on  the  propriety 
of  so  doing. 

The  signal  knock  found  instant  answer. 
The  door  was  softly  opened,  and  the  un- 
shaven face  of  Simon  Slade  presented  itself. 

"  Mr.  Jacobs !"  he  said,  with  surprise  in 
his  tones.  "  Do  you  wish  to  see  me?" 

"  No,  sir;  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Green,"  and 
with  a  quick,  firm  pressure  against  the  door, 
he  pushed  it  wide  open.  The  same  party 
was  there  that  I  had  seen  on  the  night  be- 
fore,— Green,  young  Hammond,  Judge  Ly- 
man,  and  Slade.  On  the  table  at  which  the 
three  former  were  sitting  were  cards,  slips 
of  paper,  an  inkstand  and  pens,  and  a  pile 
of  bank-notes.  On  a  side-table,  or,  rather, 
butler's  tray,  were  bottles,  decanters  ana 
glasses. 

"Judge  Lyman !  Is  it  possible  ?r  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Jacobs,  the  name  of  my  com- 


174  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

panion ;  "  I  did  not  expect  to  find  you 
here." 

Green  instantly  swept  his  hands  over  the 
table  to  secure  the  money  and  bills  it  con- 
tained ;  but,  ere  he  had  accomplished  his 
purpose  young  Hammond  grappled  three 
or  four  narrow  strips  of  paper  and  hastily 
tore  them  into  shreds. 

"You're  a  cheating  scoundrel !"  cried  Green, 
fiercely,  thrusting  his  hand  into  his  bosom 
as  if  to  draw  from  thence  a  weapon  ;  but  the 
words  were  scarcely  uttered  ere  Hammond 
sprung  upon  him  with  the  fierceness  of  a 
tiger,  bearing  him  down  upon  the  floor. 
Both  hands  were  already  about  the  gam- 
bler's neck,  and,  ere  the  bewildered  specta- 
tors could  interfere,  and  drag  him  off,  Green 
was  purple  in  the  face,  and  nearly  stran- 
gled. 

"  Call  me  a  cheating  scoundrel !''  said 
Hammond,  foaming  at  the  mouth  as  he 
spoke.  "  Me !  whom  you  have  followed 
like  a  thirsty  bloodhound.  Me !  whom  you 
have  robbed,  and  cheated,  and  debased 
from  the  beginning !  Oh !  for  a  pistol  to  rid 
the  earth  of  the  blackest-hearted  villain  that 
walks  its  surface.  Let  me  go,  gentlemen! 
I  have  nothing  left  in  the  world  to  care  for, 
— there  is  no  consequence  I  fear.  Let  me 
do  society  one  good  service  before  I  die!" 

And  with  one  vigorous  effort  he  swept 
.himself  clear  of  the  hands  that  were  pinion- 
ing him,  and  sprung  again  upon  the  gambler 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  175 

with  the  fierce  energy  of  a  savage  beast. 
By  this  time  Green  had  got  his  knife  free 
from  its  sheath,  and,  as  Hammond  was  clos- 
ing upon  him  in  his  blind  rage,  plunged  it 
into  his  side.  Quick  almost  as  lightning 
the  knife  was  withdrawn,  and  two  more 
stabs  inflicted  ere  we  could  seize  and  disarm 
the  murderer.  As  we  did  so,  Willy  Ham- 
mond fell  over  with  a  deep  groan,  the  blood 
flowing  from  his  side. 

In  the  terror  and  excitement  that  followed 
Green  rushed  from  the  room.  The  doctor, 
who  was  instantly  summoned,  after  care- 
fully examining  the  wound  and  the  condi- 
tion of  the  unhappy  young  man,  gave  it  a8 
his  opinion  that  he  was  fatally  injured. 

Oh !  the  anguish  of  the  father,  who  had 
quickly  heard  of  the  dreadful  occurrence, 
when  this  announcement  was  made.  I 
never  saw  such  fearful  agony  in  any  human 
countenance.  The  calmest  of  all  the  anx- 
ious group  was  Willy  himself.  On  his 
father's  face  his  eyes  were  fixed  as  if  by  a 
kind  of  fascination. 

"  Are  you  in  much  pain,  my  poor  boy  ?" 
sobbed  the  old  man,  stooping  over  him,  until 
his  long  white  hair  mingled  with  the  damp 
locks  of  the  sufferer. 

"Not  much,  father,"  was  the  whispered 
reply.  "  Don't  speak  of  this  to  mother  yet. 
I'm  afraid  it  will  kill  her." 

What  could  the  father  answer  ?  Nothing ! 
And  he  was  silent. 


176  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  SAB-BOOM. 

"  Does  she  know  of  it  ?"  A  shadow  went 
over  his  face. 

Mr.  Hammond  shook  his  head. 

Yet,  even  as  he  spoke,  a  wild  cry  of  dis- 
tress was  heard  below.  Some  indiscreet  per- 
son had  borne  to  the  ears  of  the  mother  the 
fearful  news  about  her  son,  and  she  had 
come  wildly  flying  toward  the  tavern,  and 
was  just  entering. 

"  It  is  my  poor  mother,"  said  Willy,  a 
flush  coming  into  his  pale  face.  "  Who 
could  have  told  here  of  this?" 

Mr.  Hammond  started  for  the  door,  but 
ere  he  had  reached  it  the  distracted  mother 
entered. 

"  Oh!  Willy,  my  boy!  my  boy!"  she  ex- 
claimed, in  tones  of  anguish  that  made  the 
heart  shudder.  And  she  crouched  down  on 
the  floor,  the  moment  she  reached  the  bed 
whereon  he  lay,  and  pressed  her  lips — oh,  so 
tenderly  and  lovingly! — to  his. 

"Dear  mother!  Sweet  mother!  Best  of 
mothers  !"  He  even  smiled  as  he  said  this, 
and  into  the  face  that  now  bent  over  him 
looked  up  with  glances  of  unutterable  fond- 
ness. 

"Oh,  Willy  !  Willy  !  Willy  1  my  son,  my 
son  1"  And  again  her  lips  were  laid  closely 
to  his. 

Mr.  Hammond  now  interfered,  and  en- 
deavored to  remove  his  wife,  fearing  for  the 
consequence  upon  his  son. 

"  Don't,  father  !"  said  Willy  ;  "  let  her  re- 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  177 

main.  I  am  not  excited  nor  disturbed.  I 
am  glad  that  she  is  here  now.  It  will  be 
best  for  us  both." 

"You  must  not  excite  him,  dear,"  gaid 
Mr.  Hammond — "  he  is  very  weak." 

"I'll  not  excite  him,"  answered  the  mother. 
'  I'll  not  speak  a  word.  There,  love— y"  and 
she  laid  her  fingers  softly  upon  the  lips  of 
her  son — "  don't  speak  a  single  word." 

For  only  a  few  moments  did  she  sit  with 
the  quiet  formality  of  a  nurse  who  feels  how 
much  depends  on  the  repose  of  her  patient. 
'Then  she  began  weeping,  moaning,  and 
wringing  her  hands. 

"Mother!"  The  feeble  voice  of  Willy 
-stilled  instantly  the  tempest  of  feeling. 
"  Mother,  kiss  me  I" 

She  bent  down  and  kissed  him. 

"Are  you  there,  mother?"  His  eyes 
moved  about,  with  a  straining  motion. 

"Yes,  love,  here  I  am." 

"  I  don't  see  you,  mother.  It's  getting  so 
•dark.  Oh,  mother !  mother !"  he  shouted, 
suddenly  starting  up  and  throwing  himself 
forward  upon  her  bosom — "  save  me  1  save 
me !" 

How  quickly  did  the  mother  clasp  her 
arms  around  him — how  eagerly  did  she 
strain  him  to  her  bosom  !  The  doctor,  fear- 
ing the  worst  consequences,  now  came  for- 
ward, and  endeavored  to  release  the  arms  of 
Mrs.  Hammond,  but  she  resisted  every  at- 
tempt to  do  so. 


178  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

"  I  will  save  you,  my  son,"  she  murmured 
in  the  ears  of  the  young  man.  "  Your 
mother  will  protect  you.  Oh  !  if  you  had 
never  left  her  side,  nothing  on  earth  could 
have  done  you  harm." 

"He  is  dead!"  I  heard  the  doctor  whis- 
per, and  a  thrill  of  horror  went  through  me. 
The  words  reached  the  ears  of  Mr.  Ham- 
mond, and  his  groan  was  one  of  almost  mor- 
tal agony. 

"Who  says  he  is  dead?"  came  sharply 
from  the  lips  of  the  mother  as  she  pressed 
the  form  of  her  child  back  upon  the  bed 
from  which  he  had  sprung  to  her  arms,  and 
looked  wildly  upon  his  face.  One  long 
scream  of  horror  told  of  her  convictions,  and 
she  fell  lifeless  across  the  body  of  her  dead 
son  I 

All  in  the  room  believed  that  Mrs.  Ham- 
mond had  only  fainted.  But  the  doctor's 
perplexed,  troubled  countenance  as  he  or- 
dered her  carried  into  another  apartment, 
and  the  ghastliness  of  her  face  when  it  was 
upturned  to  the  light,  suggested  to  every  one 
what  proved  to  be  true.  Even  to  her  ob- 
scured perceptions  the  consciousness  that 
her  son  was  dead  came  with  a  terrible  vivid- 
ness— so  terrible  that  it  extinguished  her 
life. 

Like  fire  among  dry  stubble  ran  the  news 
of  this  fearful  event  through  Cedarville. 
The  whole  town  was  wild  with  excitement. 
The  prominent  fact  that  Willy  Hammond 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  179 

had  been  murdered  by  Green,  whose  real 
profession  was  known  by  many,  and  now 
declared  to  all,  was  on  every  tongue ;  but  a 
hundred  different  and  exaggerated  stories  as 
to  the  cause  and  the  particulars  of  the  event 
were  in  circulation.  By  the  time  prepara- 
tions to  remove  the  dea'd  bodies  of  mother 
and  son  from  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf" 
to  the  residence  of  Mr.  Hammond  were  om- 
pleted,  hundreds  of  people — men,  wo  >ien, 
and  children — were  assembled  around  the 
tavern;  and  many  voices  were  clamorous 
for  Green,  while  some  called  out  for  Judge 
Lyman,  whose  name,  it  thus  appeared,  had 
become  associated  in  the  minds  of  the  peo- 
ple with  the  murderous  affair.  The  appear- 
ance, in  the  midst  of  this  excitement,  of  the 
two  dead  bodies,  borne  forth  on  settees, 
did  not  tend  to  allay  the  feverish  state  of 
indignation  that  prevailed.  From  more  than 
one  voice  I  heard  the  words,  "Lynch  the 
scoundrel!" 

A  part  of  the  crowd  followed  the  sad  pro- 
cession, while  the  greater  portion,  consisting 
of  men,  remained  about  the  tavern.  All 
bodies,  no  matter  for  what  purpose  assem- 
bled, quickly  find  leading  spirits  who, 
feeling  the  great  moving  impulse,  give  it 
voice  and  direction.  It  was  so  in  this  case. 
Intense  indignation  against  Green  was  firing 
every  bosom;  and  when  a  man  elevated 
himself  a  few  feet  above  the  agitated  mass 
of  humanity,  and  cried  o'lt— 


180  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

<(  The  murderer  must  not  escape  !" 

A  wild,  resounding  shout,  terrible  in  its 
fierceness,  made  the  air  quiver. 

"  Let  ten  men  be  chosen  to  search  the 
house  and  premises,"  said  the  leading  spirit. 

"  Ay  !  ay  !  Choose  them  !  Name  them  !" 
was  quickly  answered. 

Ten  men  were  called  by  name,  who  in- 
stant <y  stepped  in  front  of  the  crowd. 

"fiaarch  everywhere;  from  garret  to  cel- 
lar; from  hayloft  to  dog-kennel.  Every- 
where! everywhere  1"  cried  the  man. 

And  instantly  the  ten  men  entered  the 
house.  For  nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the 
crowd  waited  with  increasing  signs  of  impa- 
tience. These  delegates  at  length  appeared, 
with  the  announcement  that  Green  was  no- 
where about  the  premises.  It  was  received 
with  a  groan. 

"  Let  no  man  in  Cedarville  do  a  stroke  of 
work  until  the  murderer  is  found,"  now 
shouted  the  individual  who  still  occupied 
his  elevated  position. 

"Agreed!  agreed!  No  work  in  Cedar- 
ville until  the  murderer  is  found,"  rang  our 
fiercely. 

"  Let  all  who  have  horses,  saddle  and 
bridle  them  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  as- 
semble, mounted,  at  the  Court  House." 

About  fifty  men  left  the  crowd  hastily. 

"  Let  the  crowd  part  in  the  centre,  up  and 
down  the  road,  starting  from  a  line  in  front 
of  me." 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  181 

This  order  was  obeyed. 

"  Separate  again,  taking  the  centre  of  the 
road  for  a  line." 

Four  distinct  bodies  of  men  stood  now  in 
front  of  the  tavern. 

"  Now  search  for  the  murderer  in  every 
nook  and  corner,  for  a  distance  of  three 
miles  from  this  spot,  each  party  keeping  to 
its  own  section ;  the  road  being  one  divid- 
ing line,  and  a  line  through  the  centre  of 
this  tavern  the  other.  The  horsemen  will 
pursue  the  wretch  to  a  greater  distance." 

More  than  a  hundred-  acquiescing  voices 
responded  to  this,  as  the  man  sprung  down 
from  his  elevation  and  mingled  with  the 
crowd,  which  began  instantly  to  move  away 
on  its  appointed  mission. 

As  the  hours  went  by,  one,  and  another, 
and  another  of  the  searching  party  returned 
to  the  village,  wearied  with  their  efforts,  or 
confident  that  the  murderer  had  made  good 
his  escape.  The  horsemen,  too,  began  to 
come  in,  during  the  afternoon,  and  by  sun- 
down the  last  of  them,  worn  out  and  disap- 
pointed, made  their  appearance. 

For  hours  after  the  exciting  events  of  the 
forenoon  there  were  but  few  visitors  at  the 
"Sickle  and  Sheaf."  Slade,  who  did  not 
show  himself  among  the  crowd,  came  down 
soon  after  its  dispersion.  He  had  shaved 
and  put  on  clean  linen,  but  still  bore  many 
evidences  of  a  night  spent  without  sleep. 
His  eyes  were  red  and  heavy  and  the  eye- 


loJ  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

lids  swollen,  while  his  skin  was  relaxed 
and  colorless.  As  he  descended  the  stairs  I 
was  walking  in  the  passage.  He  looked  shy 
at  me,  and  merely  nodded.  Guilt  was 
written  plainly  on  his  countenance,  and 
with  it  was  blended  anxiety  and  alarm. 
That  he  might  be  involved  in  trouble  he 
had  reason  to  fear,  for  he  was  one  of  the 
party  engaged  in  gambling  in  Green's  room, 
as  both  Mr.  Jacobs  and  I  had  witnessed. 

"  This  is  dreadful  business,"  said  he,  as 
we  met,  face  to  face,  half  an  hour  afterward. 
He  did  not  look  me  steadily  in  the  eyes. 

"  It  is  horrible  !"  I  answered.  "  To  cor- 
rupt and  ruin  a  young  man,  and  then  mur- 
der him  !  There  are  few  deeds  in  the  cata- 
logue of  crime  blacker  than  this." 

"  It  was  done  in  the  heat  of  passion,"  said 
the  landlord,  with  something  of  apology  in 
his  manner.  "  Green  never  •  meant  to  kill 
him." 

"In  peaceful  intercourse  with  his  fellow- 
men,  why  did  he  carry  a  deadly  weapon? 
There  was  murder  in  his  heart,  sir." 

"  That  is  speaking  very  strongly." 

"  Not  stronger  than  facts  will  warrant,"  I 
replied.  "  That  Green  is  a  murderer  in 
heart,  it  needed  not  this  awful  consumma- 
tion to  show.  With  a  cool,  deliberate  pur- 
pose, he  has  sought,  from  the  beginning,  to 
destroy  young  Hammond." 

"  It  is  hardly  fair,"  answered  Slade,  "  in 
the  present  feverish  excitement  against 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  183 

Green,  to  assume  such  a  questionable  posi- 
tion. It  may  do  him  a  great  wrong." 

"  Did  Willy  Hammond  speak  only  idle 
words  when  he  accused  Green  of  having 
followed  him  like  a  thirsty  bloodhound? — 
of  having  robbed,  and  cheated,  and  debased 
him  from  the  beginning  ?" 

"  He  was  terribly  excited  at  the  moment." 

"  Yet,"  said  I,  "no  ear  that  heard  his  words 
could  for  an  instant  doubt  that  they  were 
truthful  utterances  wrung  from  a  maddened 
heart." 

My  earnest,  positive  manner  had  its  effect 
upon  Slade.  He  knew  that  what  I  asserted 
the  whole  history  of  Green's  intercourse  with 
young  Hammond  would  prove ;  and  he  had, 
moreover,  the  guilty  consciousness  of  being 
a  party  to  the  young  man's  ruin.  His  eyes 
cowered  beneath  the  steady  gaze  I  fixed 
upon  him.  I  thought  of  him  as  one  impli- 
cated in  the  murder,  and  my  thought  must 
have  been  visible  in  my  face. 

"One  murder  will  not  justify  another," 
said  he. 

"  There  is  no  justification  for  murder  on 
any  plea,"  was  my  response. 

"And  yet,  if  these  infuriated  men  find 
Green  they  will  murder  him." 

"  I  hope  not.  Indignation  at  a  horrible 
crime  has  fearfully  excited  the  people.  But 
I  think  their  sense  of  justice  is  strong 
enough  to  prevent  the  consequences  you 
apprehend." 


184  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

"  I  would  not  like  to  be  in  Green's  shoes,5* 
said  the  landlord,  with  an  uneasy  movement. 

I  looked  him  closely  in  the  face.  It  was 
the  punishment  of  the  man's  crime  that 
seemed  so  fearful  in  his  eyes — not  the  crime 
itself.  Alas  !  how  the  corrupting  traffic  had 
debased  him. 

My  words  were  so  little  relished  by  Slade 
that  he  found  some  ready  excuse  to  leave 
me.  I  saw  but  little  more  of  him  during 
the  day. 

As  evening  began  to  fall,  the  gambler's 
unsuccessful  pursuers,  one  after  another, 
found  their  way  to  the  tavern,  and  by  the 
time  night  fairly  closed  in  the  bar-room 
was  crowded  with  excited  and  angry  men, 
chafing  over  their  disappointment,  and  loud 
in  their  threats  of  vengeance.  That  Green  had 
made  good  his  escape  was  now  the  general 
belief,  and  the  stronger  this  conviction  be- 
came, the  more  steadily  did  the  current  of 
passion  begin  to  set  in  a  new  direction.  It 
had  become  known  to  every  one  that  be- 
sides Green  and  young  Hammond,  Judge 
Lyman  and  Slade  were  in  the  room  engaged 
in  playing  cards.  The  merest  suggestion  as 
to  the  complicity  of  these  two  men  with 
Green  in  ruining  Hammond,  and  thus  driv- 
ing him  mad,  was  enough  to  excite  strong 
feeling  against  them ;  and  now  that  the  mob 
had  been  cheated  of  its  victim,  its  pent-up 
indignation  sought  eagerly  some  new  chan- 
nel. 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  185 

"  Where's  Slade  ?"  some  one  asked,  in  a 
loud  voice,  from  the  centre  of  the  crowded 
bar-room.  "  Why  does  he  keep  himself  out 
of  sight?" 

"  Yes ;  where's  the  landlord  ?"  half  a  dozen 
voices  responded. 

i     "  Did  he  go  on  the  hunt?"  some  one  in- 
quired. 

"  No !"  "  No !"  "  No  !"  ran  around  the 
room.  "Not  he." 

"And  yet  the  murder  was  committed  in 
his  own  house,  and  before  his  own  eyes  !" 

"  Yes,  before  his  own  eyes!"  repeated  one 
another  indignantly. 

"  Where's  Slade  ?  Where's  the  landlord  ? 
Has  anybody  seen  him  to-night?  Matthew, 
where's  Simon  Slade?" 

From  lip  to  lip  passed  these  interrogations, 
while  the  crowd  of  men  became  agitated, 
and  swayed  to  and  fro. 

"  I  don't  think  he's  home,"  answered  the 
bar-keeper  in  a  hesitating  manner,  and  with 
visible  alarm. 

"  How  long  since  he  was  here?" 

"I  haven't  seen  him  for  a  couple  of 
hours." 

"  That's  a  lie  !"  was  sharply  said. 

"  Who  says  it's  a  lie  ?"  Matthew  affected 
to  be  strongly  indignant. 

"I  do !"  And  a  rough,  fierce-looking  man 
confronted  him. 

"What  right  have  you  to  say  so?"  asked 
Matthew,  cooling  off  considerably. 


186  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-ROOM. 

"  Because  you  lie  I"  said  the  man,  boldly. 
"  You've  seen  him  within  a  less  time  than 
half  an  hour,  and  well  you  know  it.  Now, 
if  you  wish  to  keep  yourself  out  of  this 
trouble,  answer  truly.  We  are  in  no  mood 
to  deal  with  liars  or  equivocators.  Where  is 
Simon  Slade?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Matthew,  firmly. 

"Is  he  in  the  house?" 

"  He  may  be,  or  he  may  not  be.  I  am 
just  as  ignorant  of  his  exact  whereabouts  as 
you  are." 

"  Will  you  look  for  him  ?" 

Matthew  stepped  to  the  door,  opening 
from  behind  the  bar,  and  called  the  name  of 
Frank. 

"  What's  wanted  ?"  growled  the  boy. 

"  Is  your  father  in  the  house  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  nor  don't  care,"  was  re- 
sponded in  the  same  ungracious  manner. 

"  Some  one  bring  him  into  the  bar-room, 
and  we'll  see  if  we  can't  make  him  care  a 
little." 

The  suggestion  was  no  sooner  made  than 
two  men  glided  behind  the  bar  and  passed 
into  the  room  from  which  the  voice  of  Frank 
had  issued.  A  moment  after  they  reap- 
peared, each  grasping  an  arm  of  the  boy,  and 
bearing  him  like  a  weak  child  between  them. 
He  looked  thoroughly  frightened  at  this 
unlooked-for  invasion  of  his  liberty. 

"  See  here,  young  man.''  One  of  the  lead- 
ing spirits  of  the  crowd  addressed  him  as 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  187 

soon  as  he  was  brought  in  front  of  the 
counter.  "  If  you  wish  to  keep  out  of 
trouble,  answer  our  questions  at  once,  and  to 
the  point.  We  are  in  no  mood  for  trifling. 
Where's  your  father?" 

"  Somewhere  about  the  house,  I  believe," 
Frank  replied,  in  an  humbled  tone.  He  was 
no  little  scared  at  the  summary  manner  in 
which  he  had  been  treated. 

"  How  long  since  you  saw  him  ?" 

"  Not  long  ago." 
'  Ten  minutes  ?" 
'  No  ;  nearly  half  an  hour." 
'  Where  was  he,  then  ?" 
{ He  was  going  upstairs." 
'  Very  well,  we  want  him.    See  him  and 
tell  him  so." 

Frank  went  into  the  house,  but  came  back 
into  the  bar-room,  after  an  absence  of  nearly 
five  minutes,  and  said  that  he  could  not 
find  his  father  anywhere." 

"  Where  is  he,  then  ?"  was  angrily  de- 
manded. 

"  Indeed,  gentlemen,  I  don't  know." 
Frank's  anxious  look  and  frightened  manner 
ohowed  that  he  spoke  truly. 

"There's  something  wrong  about  this — 
something  wrong — wrong,"  said  one  of  the 
men.  "Why  should  he  be  absent  now? 
Why  has  he  taken  no  steps  to  secure  the 
man  who  committed  a  murder  in  his  own 
house,  and  before  his  own  eyes?" 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  aided  him  to 


188  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  SAB-BOOM. 

escape,"  said  another,  making  this  serious 
charge  with  a  restlessness  and  want  of  evi- 
dence that  illustrated  the  reckless  and  un- 
just spirit  by  which  a  mob  is  ever  governed. 

"No  doubt  of  it  in  the  least!"  was  the 
quick  and  positive  response.  And  at  once 
this  erroneous  conviction  seized  upon  every 
one.  Not  a  single  fact  was  presented.  The 
simple,  bold  assertion  that  no  doubt  existed 
in  the  mind  of  one  man  as  to  Blade's  having 
aided  Green  to  escape  was  sufficient  for  the 
unreflecting  mob. 

"Where  is  he?  Where  is  he?  Let  us 
find  him.  He  knows  where  Green  is,  and 
he  shall  reveal  the  secret." 

This  was  enough.  The  passions  of  the 
crowd  were  at  fever  heat  again.  Two  or 
three  men  were  chosen  to  search  the  house 
and  premises,  while  others  dispersed  to  take 
a  wider  range.  One  of  the  men  who  volun- 
teered to  go  over  the  house  was  a  person 
named  Lyon,  with  whom  I  had  formed  some 
acquaintance,  and  several  times  conversed 
with  on  the  state  of  affairs  in  Cedarville. 
He  still  remained  too  good  a  customer  at 
the  bar.  I  left  the  bar  at  the  same  time 
that  he  did,  and  went  up  to  my  room.  We 
walked  side  by  side,  and  parted  at  my  door, 
I  going  in  and  he  continuing  on  to  make 
his  searches.  I  felt,  of  course,  anxious  and 
much  excited,  as  well  in  consequence  of  the 
events  of  the  day  as  the  present  aspect  of 
things.  My  head  was  aching  violently,  and 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH,  189 

in  the  hope  of  getting  relief  I  laid  myself 
down.  I  had  already  lighted  a  candle  and 
turned  the  key  in  my  door  to  prevent  intru- 
sion. Only  for  a  short  time  did  I  lie  listen- 
ing to  the  hum  of  voices  that  came  with  a 
hoarse  murmur  from  below,  to  the  sound  of 
feet  moving  along  the  passages,  and  to  the 
continual  opening  and  shutting  of  doors, 
when  something  like  suppressed  breathing 
reached  my  ears.  I  started  up  instantly 
and  listened ;  but  my  quickened  pulses 
were  now  audible  to  my  own  sense,  and  ob- 
scured what  was  external. 

"  It  is  only  imagination,"  I  said  to  myself. 
Still  I  sat  upright,  listening. 

Satisfied  at  length  that  all  was  mere  fancy, 
I  laid  myself  back  on  the  pillow  and  triea 
to  turn  my  thoughts  away  from  the  sug- 
gested idea  that  some  one  was  in  the  room. 
Scarcely  had  I  succeeded  in  this  when  my 
heart  gave  a  new  impulse,  as  a  sound  like  a 
movement  fell  upon  my  ears. 

"Mere  fancy  !"  I  said  to  myself,  as  some 
one  went  past  the  door  at  the  moment.  "My 
mind  is  over-excited." 

Still  I  raised  my  head,  supporting  it  with 
my  hand,  and  listened,  directing  my  atten- 
tion inside  and  not  outside  of  the  room.  I 
was  about  letting  my  head  fall  back  upon 
the  pillow  when  a  slight  cough,  so  distinct 
as  not  to  be  mistaken,  caused  me  to  spring 
to  the  floor  and  look  under  the  bed.  The 
mystery  was  explained.  A  pair  of  eyes 


190  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

glittered  in  the  candlelight.  The  fugitive, 
Green,  was  under  my  bed.  For  some  mo- 
ments I  stood  looking  at  him,  so  astonished 
that  I  had  neither  utterance  nor  decision, 
while  he  glared  at  me  with  a  fierce  defiance. 
I  saw  that  he  was  clutching  a  revolver. 

"  Understand,"  he  said,  in  a  grating  whis- 
per, "  that  I  am  not  to  be  taken  alive." 

I  let  the  blanket,  which  had  concealed 
him  from  view,  fall  from  my  hand,  and  then 
tried  to  collect  my  thoughts. 

"  Escape  is  impossible,"  said  I,  again  lift- 
ing the  temporary  curtain  by  which  he  was 
hid.  "  The  whole  town  is  armed  and  on  the 
search,  and  should  you  fall  into  the  hands 
of  the  mob  in  its  present  state  of  exaspera- 
tion, your  life  would  not  be  safe  an  instant. 
Remain,  then,  quiet  where  you  are  until  I 
can  see  the  sheriff,  to  whom  you  had  better 
resign  yourself,  for  there's  little  chance  for 
you  except  under  his  protection." 

After  a  brief  parley  he  consented  that 
things  should  take  this  course,  and  I  went 
out,  locking  the  room  door  after  me,  and 
started  in  search  of  the  sheriff.  On  the  in- 
formation I  gave  the  sheriff  acted  promptly. 
With  five  officers,  fully  armed  for  defence  in 
case  an  effort  were  made  to  get  the  prisoner 
out  of  their  hands,  he  repaired  immediately 
to  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf."  I  had  given  the 
key  of  my  room  into  his  possession. 

The  appearance  of  the  sheriff  with  his 
posse  was  sufficient  to  start  the  suggestion 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  191 

that  Green  was  somewhere  concealed  in  the 
house,  and  a  suggestion  was  only  needed  to 
cause  the  fact  to  be  assumed  and  unhesitat- 
ingly declared.  Intelligence  went  through 
the  reassembling  crowd  like  an  electric  cur- 
rent, and  ere  the  sheriff  could  manacle  and 
lead  forth  his  prisoner  the  stairway  down 
which  he  had  to  come  was  packed  with 
bodies  and  echoing  with  oaths  and  maledic- 
tions. 

"  Gentlemen,  clear  the  way !"  cried  the 
sheriff,  as  he  appeared  with  the  white  and 
trembling  culprit  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 
"  The  murderer  is  now  in  the  hands  of  the 
law,  and  will  meet  the  sure  consequences  of 
his  crime." 

A  shout  of  execration  rent  the  air ;  but 
not  a  single  individual  stirred. 

"  Give  way  there !  Give  way !"  And  the 
sheriff  took  a  step  or  two  forward,  but  the 
prisoner  held  back. 

"  Oh,  the  murdering  villain  !  The  cursed 
blackleg !  Where's  Willy  Hammond  ?' '  was 
heard  distinctly  above  the  confused  ming- 
ling of  voices. 

"  Gentlemen !  the  law  must  have  its 
course,  and  no  good  citizen  will  oppose  the 
law.  It  is  made  for  your  protection — for 
mine — and  for  that  of  the  prisoner." 

"Lynch  law  is  good  enough  for  him," 
shouted  a  savage  voice.  "  Hand  him  over 
to  us,  sheriff,  and  we'll  save  you  the  trou- 
ble of  hanging  him,  and  the  county  the 


192  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

cost  of  a  gallows.  We'll  do  the  business 
right." 

Five  men,  each  armed  with  a  revolver, 
now  ranged  themselves  around  the  sheriff, 
and  the  latter  said  firmly, 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  see  this  man  safely  con- 
veyed to  prison,  and  I'm  going  to  do  my 
duty.  If  there  is  any  more  blood  shed  here, 
the  blame  will  rest  with  you."  And  the 
body  of  officers  pressed  forward,  the  mob 
slowly  retreating  before  them. 

Green,  overwhelmed  with  terror,  held 
back.  I  was  standing  where  I  could  see  his 
face.  It  was  ghastly  with  mortal  fear. 
Grasping  his  pinioned  arms,  the  sheriff 
forced  him  onward.  After  contending  with 
the  crowd  for  nearly  ten  minutes,  the  officers 
gained  the  passage  below ;  but  the  mob  was 
denser  here,  and  blocking  up  the  door, 
resolutely  maintained  their  position. 

Again  and  again  the  sheriff  appealed  to 
the  good  sense  and  justice  of  the  people. 

"  The  prisoner  will  have  to  stand  a  trial, 
and  the  law  will  execute  sure  vengeance." 

"No,  it  wont!"  was  sternly  responded. 

"Who'll  be  judge  in  the  case?"  was 
asked. 

"  Why,  Judge  Lyman !"  was  contemptu- 
ously answered. 

"A  blackleg  himself!"  was  shouted  by 
two  or  three  voices. 

"Blackleg  judge,  and  blackleg  lawyers! 
Oh,  yes!  The  law  will  execute  sure  ven- 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  193 

geance!  Who  was  in  the  room  gambling 
with  Green  and  Hammond  ?" 

"  Judge  Lyman  !"  "  Judge  Lyman  !"  was 
answered  back. 

"  It  won't  do,  sheriff  I  There's  no  law  in 
the  country  to  reach  the  case  but  Lynch 
law,  and  that  the  scoundrel  must  nave. 
Give  him  to  us!" 

"Never!  On,  men,  with  the  prisoner  I" 
cried  the  sheriff,  resolutely,  and  the  posse 
made  a  rush  toward  the  door,  bearing  back 
the  resisting  and  now  infuriated  crowd. 
Shouts,  cries,  oaths  and  savage  imprecations 
blended  in  wild  discord,  in  the  midst  of 
which  my  blood  was  chilled  by  the  sharp 
crack  of  a  pistol.  Another  and  another  shot 
followed,  and  then,  as  a  cry  of  pain  thrilled 
the  air,  the  fierce  storm  hushed  its  fury  in 
an  instant. 

"Who's shot?    Is  he  killed?" 

There  was  a  breathless  eagerness  for  the 
answer. 

"  It's  the  gambler  !"  was  replied.  "  Some- 
body has  shot  Green." 

A  low  muttered  invective  against  the  vic- 
tim was  heard  here  and  there ;  but  the  an- 
nouncement was  not  received  with  a  shout 
of  exultation,  though  there  was  scarcely  a 
heart  that  did  not  feel  pleasure  at  the  sacri- 
fice of  Harvey  Green's  life. 

It  was  true  as  had  been  declared.  Whether 
the  shot  was  aimed  deliberately,  or  guided 
by  an  unseen  hand  to  the  heart  of  the  gam- 

G 


194  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-ROOM. 

bier,  was  never  known ;  nor  did  the  most 
careful  examination,  instituted  afterward  by 
the  county,  elicit  any  information  that  even 
directed  suspicion  toward  the  individual 
who  became  the  agent  of  his  death. 

At  the  coroner's  inquest,  held  over  the 
dead  body  of  Harvey  Green,  Simon  Slade 
was  present.  Where  he  had  concealed  him- 
self while  the  mob  were  in  search  of  him 
was  not  known.  He  looked  haggard,  and 
his  eyes  were  anxious  and  restless.  Two 
murders  in  his  house,  occurring  in  a  single 
day,  were  quite  enough  to  darken  his  spirits, 
and  the  more  so  as  his  relations  with  both 
the  victims  were  not  of  a  character  to  awaken 
anything  but  self-accusation. 

As  for  the  mob,  in  the  death  of  Green  its 
eager  thirst  for  vengeance  was  satisfied. 
Nothing  more  was  said  against  Slade,  as  a 
participator  in  the  ruin  and  death  of  young 
Hammond.  The  popular  feeling  was  one  of 

Eity  rather  than    indignation    toward    the 
indlord,  for  it  was  seen  that  he  was  deeply 
troubled. 

One  thing  I  noticed,  and  it  was  that  the 
drinking  at  the  bar  was  not  suspended  for  a 
moment.  A  large  proportion  of  those  who 
made  up  the  crowd  of  Green's  angry  pur- 
suers were  excited  by  drink  as  well  as  in- 
dignation, and  I  am  very  sure  that,  but  for 
the  maddening  effects  of  liquor,  the  fatal 
shot  would  never  have  been  fired.  After 
the  fearful  catastrophe,  and  when  every 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  195 

mind  was  sobered,  or  ought  to  have  been 
sobered,  the  crowd  returned  to  the  bar-room, 
where  the  drinking  was  renewed.  So  rapid 
were  the  calls  for  liquor,  that  both  Matthew 
and  Frank,  the  landlord's  son,  were  kept 
busy  mixing  the  various  compounds  de- 
manded by  the  thirsty  customers. 

From  the  constant  stream  of  human  beings 
that  flowed  toward  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf," 
after  the  news  of  Green's  discovery  and 
death  went  forth,  it  seemed  as  if  every  man 
and  boy  within  a  distance  of  two  or  three 
miles  had  received  intelligence  of  the  event. 
Few,  very,  of  those  who  came  but  went  first 
into  the  bar-room,  and  nearly  all  who  en- 
tered the  bar-room  called  for  liquor.  In  an 
hour  after  the  death  of  Green,  the  fact  that 
his  dead  body  was  laid  out  in  the  room  im- 
mediately adjoining  seemed  utterly  to  pass 
from  the  consciousness  of  every  one  in  the 
bar.  The  calls  for  liquor  were  incessant; 
and,  as  the  excitement  of  drink  increased, 
voices  grew  louder,  and  oaths  more  plenti- 
ful, while  the  sounds  of  laughter  ceased  not 
for  an  instant. 

"  They're  giving  him  a  regular  Irish 
wake,"  I  heard  remarked,  with  a  brutal 
laugh. 

I  turned  to  the  speaker,  and  to  my  great 
surprise  saw  that  it  was  Judge  Lyman,  more 
under  the  influence  of  drink  than  I  remem- 
bered to  have  seen  him.  He  was  about  the 
last  man  I  expected  to  find  here.  If  he  knew 


196  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-BOOM. 

of  the  strong  indignation  expressed  toward 
him  a  little  while  before  by  some  of  the  very 
men  now  excited  with  liquor,  his  own  free 
drinking  had  extinguished  fear. 

"  Yes,  curse  him  1"  was  the  answer.  "  If 
they  have  a  particularly  hot  corner  '  away 
down  below,'  I  hope  he's  made  its  acquaint- 
ance before  this." 

"  Most  likely  he's  smelled  brimstone," 
chuckled  the  judge. 

"Smelled  it!  If  old  Clubfoot  hasn't 
treated  him  with  a  brimstone  bath  long  be- 
fore this,  he  hasn't  done  his  duty.  If  I 
thought  as  much,  I'd  vote  for  sending  his 
majesty  a  remonstrance  forthwith." 

*Ha1  ha!"  laughed  the  judge.  "You're 
warm  on  the  subject." 

"Ain't  I?  The  blackleg  scoundrel !  Hell's 
too  good  for  him." 

"  H-u-s-h !  Don't  let  your  indignation  run 
into  profanity,"  said  Judge  Lyman,  trying 
to  assume  a  serious  air ;  but  the  muscles  of 
his  face  but  feebly  obeyed  his  will's  feeble 
effort. 

"  Profanity  !  Pooh !  I  don't  call  that  pro- 
fanity. It's  only  speaking  out  in  meeting, 
as  they  say — it's  only  calling  black  black 
and  white 'white.  You  believe  in  a  hell, 
don't  you,  judge?" 

"  I  suppose  there  is  one,  though  I  don't 
know  very  certain." 

"  You'd  better  be  certain !"  said  the  other, 
meaningly. 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  197 

"Why  SO?" 

"  Oh !  because  if  there  is  one,  and  you 
don't  cut  your  cards  a  little  differently, 
you'll  be  apt  to  find  it  at  the  end  of  your 
journey." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  the 
judge,  retreating  somewhat  into  himself  and 
trying  to  look  dignified. 

"  Just  what  I  say,"  was  unhesitatingly  an- 
swered. 

"Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  anything?" 
asked  the  judge,  whose  brows  were  begin- 
ning to  knit  themselves. 

"  Nobody  thinks  you  a  saint,"  replied  the 
man,  roughly. 

"  I  never  professed  to  be." 

"  And  it  is  said" — the  man  fixed  his  gaze 
almost  insultingly  upon  Judge  Lyman's  face 
— "  that  you'll  get  about  as  hot  a  corner  in 
the  lower  regions  as  is  to  be  found  there, 
whenever  you  make  the  journey  in  that  di- 
rection." 

"  You  are  insolent !"  exclaimed  the  judge, 
his  face  becoming  inflamed. 

"  Take  care  what  you  say,  sir !"  The  man 
spoke  threateningly. 

"  You'd  better  take  care  what  you  say." 

"  So  I  will,"  replied  the  other.     "  But—" 

"What's  to  pay  here?"  inquired  a  third 
party,  coming  up  at  the  moment,  and  inter- 
rupting the  speaker. 

"  The  devil  will  be  to  pay,"  said  Judge 
Lyman.  "  if  somebody  don't  look  out  sharp." 


198  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  SAB-ROOM. 

"Do  you  mean  that  for  me,  ha?"  The 
man  between  whom  and  himself  this  slight 
contention  had  so  quickly  sprung  up  began 
stripping  back  his  coat-sleeves,  like  one 
about  to  commence  boxing. 

"  I  mean  it  for  anybody  who  presumes  to 
offer  me  an  insult." 

The  raised  voices  of  the  two  men  now 
drew  toward  them  the  attention  of  every  one 
in  the  bar-room. 

"  The  devil !  There's  Judge  Lyman  I"  I 
heard  some  one  exclaim,  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  Wasn't  he  in  the  room  with  Green  when 
Willy  Hammond  was  murdered?"  asked 
another. 

"  Yes,  he  was ;  and  what's  more,  it  is  said 
he  had  been  playing  against  him  all  night, 
he  and  Green  sharing  the  plunder." 

This  last  remark  came  distinctly  to  the 
ears  of  Lyman,  who  started  to  his  feet  in- 
stantly, exclaiming  fiercely — 

"  Whoever  says  that  is  a  cursed  liar!" 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth 
before  a  blow  staggered  him  against  the  wall, 
near  which  he  was  standing.  Another  blow 
felled  him;  and  then  his  assailant  sprang 
over  his  prostrate  body,  kicking  him  and 
stamping  upon  his  face  and  breast  in  the 
most  brutal,  shocking  manner. 

"Kill  him!  He's  worse  than  Green!" 
somebody  cried  out,  in  a  voice  so  full  of 
cruelty  and  murder  that  it  made  my  blood 
curdle.  "  Remember  Willy  Hammond  '" 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  199 

The  terrible  scene  that  followed,  in  which 
were  heard  a  confused  mingling  of  blows, 
cries,  yells,  and  horrible  oaths,  continued  for 
several  minutes,  and  ceased  only  when  the 
words  "  Don't,  don't  strike  him  any  more! 
He's  dead !"  were  repeated  several  times. 
Then  the  wild  strife  subsided.  As  the  crowd 
parted  from  around  the  body  of  Judge  Ly- 
man,  and  gave  way,  I  caught  a  single  glance 
at  his  face.  It  was  covered  with  blood,  and 
every  feature  seemed  to  have  been  literally 
trampled  down,  until  all  was  a  level  surface  I 
Sickened  at  the  sight,  I  passed  hastily  from 
the  room  into  the  open  air,  and  caught  my 
breath  several  times  before  respiration  again 
went  on  freely.  As  I  stood  in  front  of  the 
tavern,  the  body  of  Judge  Lyman  was  borne 
out  by  three  or*  four  men  and  carried  off  in 
the  direction  of  his  dwelling. 

"  Is  he  dead  ?"  I  inquired  of  those  who 
had  him  in  charge. 

"  No,"  was  the  answer.  "  He's  not  dead, 
but  terribly  beaten,"  and  they  passed  on. 

Again  the  loud  voices  of  men  in  angry 
strife  arose  in  the  bar-room.  I  did  not  re.- 
turn  there  to  learn  the  cause,  or  to  witness 
the  fiend-like  conduct  of  men,  all  whose 
worst  passions  were  stimulated  by  drink  into 
the  wildest  fervor.  As  I  was  entering  my 
room,  the  thought  flashed  through  my 
mind  that,  as  Green  was  found  there,  it 
needed  only  the  bare  suggestion  that  I 
had  aided  in  his  concealment  to  direct 


200  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

toward  me  the  insane  fury  of  the  drunken 
mob. 

"  It  is  not  safe  to  remain  here."  I  said 
this  to  myself,  with  the  emphasis  of  a  strong 
internal  conviction. 

Against  this  my  mind  opposed  a  few  fee- 
ble arguments ;  but  the  more  I  thought  of 
the  matter  the  more  clearly  did  I  become 
satisfied  that  to  attempt  to  pass  the  night 
in  that  room  was  to  me  a  risk  it  was  not 
prudent  to  assume. 

So  I  went  in  search  of  Mrs.  Slade,  to  ask 
her  to  have  another  room  prepared  for  me. 
But  she  was  not  in  the  house ;  and  I  learned, 
upon  inquiry,  that  since  the  murder  of 
young  Hammond  she  had  been  suffering 
from  repeated  hysterical  and  fainting  fits, 
and  was  now,  with  her  daughter,  at  the 
house  of  a  relative,  whither  she  had  been 
carried  early  in  the  afternoon. 

It  was  on  my  lip  to  request  the  chamber- 
maid to  give  me  another  room ;  but  this  I 
felt  to  be  scarcely  prudent,  for  if  the  popular 
indignation  should  happen  to  turn  toward 
me,  the  servant  would  be  the  one  questioned, 
most  likely,  as  to  where  I  had  removed  my 
quarters. 

"  It  isn't  safe  to  stay  in  the  house,"  said  I, 
speaking  to  myself.  "  Two,  perhaps  three, 
murders,  have  been  committed  already-. 
The  tiger's  thirst  for  blood  has  been  stimu- 
lated, and  who  can  tell  how  quickly  he  ma*' 
spring  again,  or  in  what  direction  ?" 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  201 

Even  while  I  said  this,  there  came  up 
from  the  bar-room  louder  and  madder 
shouts.  Then  blows  were  heard,  mingled 
with  cries  and  oaths.  A  shuddering  sense 
of  danger  oppressed  me,  and  I  went  nastily 
down  stairs  and  out  into  the  street.  As  I 
gained  the  passage  I  looked  into  the  sitting- 
room,  where  the  body  of  Green  was  laid  out. 
Just  then  the  bar-room  door  was  burst  open 
by  a  fighting  party  who  had  been  thrown, 
in  their  fierce  contention,  against  it.  I  paused 
only  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  even  in  that 
brief  period  of  time  saw  blows  exchanged 
over  the  dead  body  of  the  gambler! 

"  This  is  no  place  for  me,"  I  said,  almost 
aloud,  and  hurried  from  the  house,  and  took 
my  way  to  the  residence  of  a  gentleman 
who  had  shown  me  many  kindnesses  dur- 
ing my  visits  at  Cedarville.  There  was 
needed  scarcely  a  word  of  representation 
on  my  part  to  secure  a  cordial  tender  of  a 
bed. 

What  a  change  !  It  seemed  almost  like  a 
passage  from  Pandemonium  to  a  heavenly 
region,  as  I  seated  myself  alone  in  the  quiet 
chamber  a  cheerful  hospitality  had  assigned 
me,  and  mused  on  the  exciting  and  terrible 
incidents  of  the  day.  They  that  sow  the 
wind  shall  reap  the  whirlwind.  How  marked 
had  been  the  realization  of  this  prophecy, 
couched  in  such  strong  but  beautiful  im- 
agery ! 

On  the  next  day  I  was  to  leave  Cedarville. 


202  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-EOOM. 

Early  in  the  morning  I  repaired  to  the 
"Sickle  and  Sheaf."  The  storm  was  over, 
and  all  was  calm  and  silent  as  desolation. 
Hours  before  the  tempest  had  subsided, 
but  the  evidences  left  behind  of  its  ravaging 
fury  were  fearful  to  look  upon.  Doors, 
chairs,  windows  and  tables  were  broken, 
and  even  the  strong  brass  rod  that  orna- 
mented the  bar  had  been  partially  wrenched 
from  its  fastenings  by  strong  hands,  under 
an  impulse  of  murder  that  only  lacked  a 
weapon  to  execute  its  fiendish  purpose. 
Stains  of  blood,  in  drops,  marks,  and  even 
dried-up  pools,  were  to  be  seen  all  over  the 
bar-room  and  passage  floors,  and  in  many 
places  on  the  porch. 

In  the  sitting-room  still  lay  the  body  of 
Green.  Here,  too,  were  many  signs  to  indi- 
cate a  fierce  struggle.  The  looking-glass  was 
smashed  to  a  hundred  pieces,  and  the  shiv- 
ered fragments  lay  yet  untouched  upon  the 
floor.  A  chair,  which  it  was  plain  had  been 
used  as  a  weapon  of  assault,  had  two  of  its 
legs  broken  short  off,  and  was  thrown  into 
a  corner.  And  even  the  bearers  on  which 
the  dead  man  lay  were  pushed  from  their 
true  position,  showing  that  even  in  its  mor- 
tal sleep  the  body  of  Green  had  felt  the 
jarring  strife  of  elements  he  had  himself 
helped  to  awaken  into  mad  activity.  From 
his  face  the  sheet  had  been  drawn  aside, 
but  no  hand  ventured  to  replace  it,  and  there 
it  lay,  in  its  ghastly  paleness,  exposed  to  the 


NIGHT  TEE  SEVENTH.  208 

light,  and  covered  with  restless  flies,  attracted 
by  the  first  faint  odors  of  putridity.  With  gaze 
averted,  I  approached  the  body  and  drew 
the  covering  decently  over  it. 

No  person  was  in  the  bar.  I  went  out  into 
the  stable  yard,  where  I  met  the  hostler,  with 
his  head  bound  up.  There  was  a  dark  blue 
circle  around  one  of  his  eyes,  and  an  ugly- 
looking  red  scar  on  his  cheek. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Slade  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  In  bed,  and  likely  to  keep  it  for  a  week," 
was  answered. 

"  How  comes  that?" 

"Naturally  enough.  There  was  righting 
all  around  last  night,  and  he  had  to  come  in 
for  a  share.  The  fool !  If  he'd  just  held  his 
tongue  he  might  have  come  out  of  it  with  a 
whole  skin.  But,  when  the  rum  is  in,  the 
wit  is  out,  with  him.  It's  cost  me  a  black 
eye  and  a  broken  head,  for  how  could  I  stand 
by  and  see  him  murdered  outright?" 

"Is  he  very  badly  injured?" 

"  I  rather  think  he  IB.  One  eye  is  clean 
gone." 

"Oh,  shocking!" 

"  It's  shocking  enough,  and  no  mistake." 

"Lost  an  eye!" 

"  Too  true,  sir.  The  doctor  saw  him  this 
morning,  and  says  the  eye  was  fairly  gouged 
out  and  broken  up.  In  fact,  when  we  car- 
ried him  upstairs  for  dead  last  night  his 
eye  was  lying  upon  his  cheek.  I  pushed  it 
back  with  my  own  hand !" 


204  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

"Oh,  horrible!"  The  relation  made  me 
sick.  "  Is  he  otherwise  much  injured  ?" 

"  The  doctor  thinks  there  are  some  bad 
hurts  inside.  Why,  they  kicked  and  tram- 
pled upon  him  as  if  he  had  been  a  wild 
beast !  I  never  saw  such  a  pack  of  blood- 
thirsty devils  in  my  life." 

"  So  much  for  rum,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  sir;  so  much  for  rum,"  was  the  em- 
phatic response.  "  It  was  the  rum,  and 
nothing  else.  Why,  some  of  the  very  men 
who  acted  the  most  like  tigers  and  devils 
are  as  harmless  persons  as  you  will  find  in 
Cedarville  when  sober.  Yes,  sir ;  it  was  the 
rum,  and  nothing  else.  Rum  gave  me  this 
broken  head  and  black  eye." 

"  So  you  had  been  drinking  also  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  There's  no  use  in  denying 
that." 

"  Liquor  does  you  harm." 

"  Nobody  knows  that  better  than  I  do." 

"  Why  do  you  drink,  then?" 

"Oh,  just  because  it  comes  in  the  way. 
Liquor  is  under  my  eyes  and  nose  all  the 
time,  and  it's  as  natural  as  breathing  to  take 
a  little  now  and  then.  And  when  I  don't 
think  of  it  myself,  somebody  will  think  of  it 
for  me,  and  say  'Come,  Sam,  let's  take 
something.'  So  you  see,  for  a  body  such  as 
I  am,  there  isn't  much  help  for  it." 

"  But  ain't  you  afraid  to  go  on  in  this 
way?  Don't  you  know  where  it  will  all 
end  ?" 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  205 

"  Just  as  well  as  anybody.  It  will  make 
an  end  of  me — or  of  all  that  is  good  in  me. 
Rum  and  ruin,  you  know,  sir.  They  go  to- 
gether like  twin  brothers." 

"  Why  don't  you  get  out  of  the  way  of 
temptation  ?"  said  I. 

"  It's  easy  enough  to  ask  that  question, 
sir ;  but  how  am  1  to  get  out  of  the  way  of 
temptation  ?  Where  shall  I  go  and  not  find 
a  bar  in  my  road,  and  somebody  to  say 
'  Come,  Sam,  let's  take  a  drink  ?'  It  can't  be 
done,  sir,  nohow.  I'm  a  hostler,  and  don't 
know  how  to  be  anything  else." 

"  Can't  you  work  on  a  farm  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  can  do  something  in  that  way. 
But  when  there  are  taverns  and  bar-rooms, 
as  many  as  three  or  four  in  every  mile  all 
over  the  country,  how  are  you  to  keep  clear 
of  them?  Figure  me  out  that." 

"  I  think  you'd  better  vote  on  the  Maine 
Law  side  at  next  election,"  said  I. 

"  Faith,  and  I  did  it  last  time  1"  replied 
the  man,  with  a  brightening  face — "  and  if 
I'm  spared,  I'll  go  the  same  ticket  next 
year." 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  Law?"  I 
asked. 

"  Think  of  it !  Bless  your  heart !  if  I  was 
a  praying  man,  which  I'm  sorry  to  say  I 
ain't — my  mother  was  a  pious  woman,  sir  " 
— his  voice  fell  and  slightly  trembled — "  if  I 
was  a  praying  man,  sir,  I'd  pray  night  and 
morning,  and  twenty  times  every  day  of  my 


206  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

life,  for  God  to  put  it  into  the  hearts  of  the 
people  to  give  us  that  Law.  I'd  have  some 
hope  then.  But  I  haven't  much  as  it  is. 
There's  no  use  in  trying  to  let  liquor  alone." 

"  Do  many  drinking  men  think  as  you 
do?" 

"lean  count  up  a  dozen  or  two  myself. 
It  isn't  the  drinking  men  who  are  so  much 
opposed  to  the  Maine  law  as  your  politi- 
cians. They  throw  dust  in  the  people's  eyes 
about  it,  and  make  a  great  many  who  know 
nothing  at  all  of  the  evils  of  drinking  in 
themselves  believe  some  bugbear  story  about 
trampling  on  the  rights  of  I  don't  know 
who,  nor  they  either.  As  for  rum-sellers' 
rights,  I  never  could  see  any  right  they  had 
to  get  rich  by  ruining  poor  devils  such  as  I 
am.  I  think,  though,  that  we  have  some 
right  to  be  protected  against  them." 

The  ringing  of  a  bell  here  announced  the 
arrival  of  some  traveller,  and  the  hostler  left 
me. 

I  learned  during  the  morning  that  Mat- 
thew the  bar-keeper,  and  also  the  son  of 
Mr.  Slade,  were  both  considerably  hurt 
during  the  affrays  in  the  bar-room,  and  were 
confined,  temporarily,  to  their  beds.  Mrs. 
Slade  still  continued  in  a  distressing  and 
dangerous  state.  Judge  Lyman,  though 
shockingly  injured,  was  not  thought  to  be  in 
a  critical  condition. 

A  busy  day  the  sheriff  had  of  it,  making 
arresta  of  various  parties  engaged  in  the  last 


NIGHT  THE  SEVENTH.  207 

night's  affairs.  Even  Slade,  unable  as  he 
was  to  lift  his  head  from  his  pillow,  was  re- 
quired to  give  heavy  bail  for  his  appearance 
at  court.  Happily  I  escaped  the  inconve- 
nience of  being  held  to  appear  as  a  witness, 
and  early  in  the  afternoon  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  finding  myself  rapidly  borne  away 
in  the  stage-coach.  It  was  two  years  before 
I  entered  the  pleasant  village  of  Cedar ville 
again. 


NIGHT   THE   EIGHTH. 

Reaping  the  Whirlwind. 

I  WAS  in  Washington  City  during  the  suc- 
ceeding month.  It  was  the  short  or  closing 
session  of  a  regular  Congressional  term. 
The  implication  of  Judge  Lyman  in  the 
affair  of  Green  and  young  Hammond  had 
brought  him  into  such  bad  odor  in  Cedar- 
ville,  and  the  whole  district  from  which  he 
had  been  chosen,  that  his  party  deemed  it 
wise  to  set  him  aside  and  take  up  a  candi- 
date less  likely  to  meet  with  so  strong,  and, 
it  might  be,  successful  an  opposition.  By 
so  doing  they  were  able  to  secure  the  elec- 
tion once  more  against  the  growing  temper- 
ance party,  which  succeeded,  however,  in 
getting  a  Maine  Law  man  into  the  State 
Legislature.  It  was,  therefore,  Judge  Ly- 
man's  last  winter  at  the  Federal  capital. 

While  seated  in  the  reading-room  at  Ful- 
ler's Hotel,  about  noon,  on  the  day  after  my 
arrival  in  Washington,  I  noticed  an  indi- 
vidual, whose  face  looked  familiar,  come  in 
and  glance  about,  as  if  in  search  of  some 
one.  While  yet  questioning  in  my  mind 
who  he  could  be,  I  heard  a  man  remark  to  a 
person  with  whom  he  had  been  conversing — • 
(  103} 


NIGHT  THE  EIGHTH.  203 

"  There's  that  vagabond  member  away 
from  his  place  in  the  House,  again." 

"  Who?1'  inquired  the  other. 

"  Why,  Judge  Lyman,"  was  answered. 

"  Oh  I"  said  the  other,  indiflferently  •  "  it 
isn't  of  much  consequence.  Precious  little 
wisdom  does  he  add  to  that  intelligent 
body." 

"  His  vote  is  worth  something  at  least, 
when  important  questions  are  at  stake." 

"  What  does  he  charge  for  it  ?"  was  coolly 
inquired. 

There  was  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  and 
an  arching  of  the  eyebrows,  but  no  answer. 

"  I'm  in  earnest,  though,  in  the  question," 
said  the  last  speaker. 

'*  Not  in  saying  that  Lyman  will  sell  his 
vote  to  the  highest  bidders  ?" 

"  That  will  depend  altogether  upon  whom 
the  bidders  may  be.  They  must  be  men 
who  have  something  to  lose  as  well  as  gain 
— men  not  at  all  likely  to  bruit  the  matter, 
and  in  serving  whose  personal  interests  no 
abandonment  of  party  is  required.  Judge 
Lyman  is  always  on  good  terms  with  the 
lobby  members,  and  may  be  found  in  com- 

E any  with  some  of  them  daily.  Doubtless 
is  absence  from  the  House  now  is  for  the 
purpose  of  a  special  meeting  with  gentle- 
men who  are  ready  to  pay  well  for  votes  in 
favor  of  some  bill  making  appropriations 
of  public  money  for  private  or  corporate 
benefit." 


210  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

"  You  certainly  cannot  mean  all  you  say 
to  be  taken  in  its  broadest  sense,"  was  re- 
plied to  this. 

"Yes;  in  its  very  broadest.  Into  just 
this  deep  of  moral  and  political  degradation 
has  this  man  fallen,  disgracing  his  constitu- 
ents and  dishonoring  his  country." 

"  His  presence  at  Washington  doesn't 
speak  very  highly  in  favor  of  the  community 
he  represents." 

"  No ;  still,  as  things  are  now,  we  cannot 
judge  of  the  moral  worth  of  a  community 
by  the  men  sent  from  it  to  Congress.  Repre- 
sentatives show  merely  the  strength  of 
parties.  The  candidate  chosen  in  party 
primary  meetings  is  not  selected  because  he 
is  the  best  man  they  have,  and  the  one  fittest 
to  legislate  wisely  in  national  affairs ;  but 
he  who  happens  to  have  the  strongest  per- 
sonal friends  among  those  who  nominate,  or 
who  is  most  likely  to  poll  the  highest  vote. 
This  is  why  we  find,  in  Congress,  such  a 
large  preponderance  of  tenth-rate  men.'* 

"  Men,  such  as  you  represent  Judge  Ly- 
man  to  be,  would  sell  their  country  like  an- 
other Arnold." 

"Yes;  if  the  bid  were  high  enough." 

"  Does  he  gamble  ?" 

"  Gambling,  I  might  say,  is  a  part  of  his 
profession.  Very  few  nights  pass,  I  am  told, 
without  finding  him  at  the  gaming  table." 

I  heard  no  more.  At  all  this,  I  was  not  in 
the  least  surprised,  for  my  knowledge  of  the 


NIGHT  THE  EIGHTH.  211 

man's  antecedents  had  prepared  me  for  alle- 
gations quite  as  bad  as  these. 

During  the  week  I  spent  at  the  Federal 
Capital  I  had  several  opportunities  of  see- 
ing Judge  Lyman,  in  the  House  and  out  of 
it, — in  the  House  only  when  the  yeas  and 
nays  were  called  on  some  important  meas- 
ure, or  a  vote  taken  on  a  bill  granting  special 
privileges.  In  the  latter  case  his  vote,  as  I  no- 
ticed, was  generally  cast  on  the  affirmative 
side.  Several  times  I  saw  him  staggering 
on  the  Avenue,  and  once  brought  into  the 
House  for  the  purpose  of  voting,  in  so 
drunken  a  state  that  he  had  to  be  supported 
to  his  seat.  And  even  worse  than  this — 
when  his  name  was  called,  he  was  asleep, 
and  had  to  be  shaken  several  times  before  he 
was  sufficiently  aroused  to  give  his  vote ! 

Happily,  for  the  good  of  his  country,  it 
was  his  last  winter  in  Washington.  At  the 
next  session  a  better  man  took  his  place. 

Two  years  from  the  period  of  my  last  visit 
to  Cedarville  I  found  myself  approaching 
that  quiet  village  again.  As  the  church- 
spire  came  in  view,  and  house  after  house 
became  visible,  here  and  there,  standing  out 
in  pleasant  relief  against  the  green  back- 
ground of  woods  and  fields,  all  the  exciting 
events  which  rendered  my  last  visit  so  mem- 
orable came  up  fresh  in  my  mind.  I  was 
yet  thinking  of  Willy  Hammond's  dreadful 


212  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

death,  and  of  his  broken-hearted  mother, 
whose  life  went  out  with  his,  when  the  stage 
rolled  by  their  old  homestead.  Oh,  what  a 
change  was  here !  Neglect,  decay  and  di- 
lapidation were  visible,  let  the  eye  fall  where 
it  would.  The  fences  were  down,  here  and 
there ;  the  hedges,  once  so  green  and  nicely 
trimmed,  had  grown  rankly  in  some  places, 
but  were  stunted  and  dying  in  others ;  all 
the  beautiful  walks  were  weedy  and  grass- 
grown,  and  the  box-borders  dead ;  the  gar- 
den, rainbow-hued  in  its  wealth  of  choice 
and  beautiful  flowers  when  I  first  saw  it, 
was  lying  waste, — a  rooting-ground  for  hogs. 
A  glance  at  the  house  showed  a  broken 
chimney,  the  bricks  unremoved  from  the 
spot  where  they  struck  the  ground  ;  a  moss- 
grown  roof,  with  a  large  limb  from  a  light- 
ning-rent tree  lying  almost  balanced  over 
the  eaves,  and  threatening  to  fall  at  the 
touch  of  the  first  wind-storm  that  swept 
over.  Half  of  the  vines  that  clambered 
about  the  portico  were  dead,  and  the  rest, 
untrained,  twined  themselves  in  wild  disor- 
der, or  fell  grovelling  to  the  earth.  One  of 
the  pillars  of  the  portico  was  broken,  as 
were,  also,  two  of  the  steps  that  went  up  to 
it.  The  windows  of  the  house  were  closed, 
but  the  door  stood  open,  and  as  the  stage 
went  by  my  eyes  rested  for  a  moment 
upon  an  old  man  seated  in  the  hall.  He 
was  not  near  enough  to  the  door  for  me  to 
get  a  view  of  his  face,  but  the  white  flowing 


NIGHT  THE  EIGHTH.  213 

hair  left  me  in  no  doubt  as  to  his  identity. 
It  was  Judge  Hammond. 

The  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf"  was  yet  the  stage- 
house  of  Cedarville,  and  there,  a  few  min- 
utes afterward,  I  found  myself.  The  hand 
of  change  had  been  here  also.  The  first  ob- 
ject that  attracted  my  attention  was  the 
sign-post,  which,  at  my  earlier  arrival,  some 
eight  or  nine  years  before,  stood  up  in  its  new 
white  garment  of  paint  as  straight  as  a 
plummet-line,  bearing  proudly  aloft  the 
golden  sheaf  and  gleaming  sickle.  Now, 
the  post,  dingy  and  shattered,  and  worn 
from  the  frequent  contact  of  wheels  and 
gnawing  of  restless  horses,  leaned  from  its 
Li'im  perpendicular  at  an  angle  of  many  de- 
grees, as  if  ashamed  of  the  faded,  weather- 
worn, lying  symbol  it  bore  aloft  in  the  sun- 
shine. Around  the  post  was  a  filthy  mud- 
pool,  in  which  a  hog  lay  grunting  out  its 
sense  of  enjoyment.  Two  or  three  old  empty 
whisky  barrels  lumbered  up  the  dirty  porch, 
on  which  a  coarse,  bloated,  vulgar-looking 
man  sat  leaning  against  the  wall — his  chair 
tipped  back  on  its  hind  legs — squinting  at 
me  from  one  eye,  as  I  left  the  stage  and 
came  forward  toward  the  house. 

"  Ah !  is  this  you  ?"  said  he,  as  I  came 
near  to  him,  speaking  thickly,  and  getting 
up  with  a  heavy  motion.  I  now  recognized 
the  altered  person  of  Simon  Slade.  On  look- 
ing at  him  closer,  I  saw  that  the  eye  which 
I  had  thought  only  shut  was  in  fact  de- 


214  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

stroyed.  How  vividly,  now,  uprose  in  im- 
agination the  scenes  I  had  witnessed  during 
my  last  night  in  his  bar-room — the  night 
when  a  brutal  mob,  whom  he  had  inebri- 
ated with  liquor,  came  near  murdering 
him. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  once  more,  my  boy ! 
Glad  to  see  you  !  I — I — I'm  not  just — you 
see.  How  are  you  ?  How  are  you  ?" 

And  he  shook  my  hand  with  a  drunken 
show  of  cordiality. 

I  felt  shocked  and  disgusted.  Wretched 
man !  down  the  crumbling  sides  of  the  pit 
he  had  digged  for  other  feet  he  was  himself 
sliding,  while  not  enough  strength  remained 
even  to  struggle  with  his  fate. 

I  tried  for  a  few  minutes  to  talk  with'  him, 
but  his  mind  was  altogether  beclouded,  and 
his  questions  and  answers  incoherent,  so  I 
left  him  and  entered  the  bar-room. 

"  Can  I  get  accommodations  here  for  a 
couple  of  days?"  I  inquired  of  a  stupid, 
sleepy-looking  man,  who  was  sitting  in  a 
chair  behind  the  bar. 

"I  reckon  so,"  he  answered,  but  did  not 
rise. 

I  turned,  and  walked  a  few  paces  toward 
the  door,  and  then  walked  back  again. 

"  I'd  like  to  get  a  room,"  said  I. 

The  man  got  up  slowly,  and  going  to  a 
desk,  fumbled  about  in  it  for  awhile.  At 
length  he  brought  out  an  old,  dilapidated 
blank-book,  and  throwing  it  open  on  the 


NIQHT  THE  EIGHTH.  215 

counter,  asked  me,  in  an  indifferent  man- 
ner, to  write  down  my  name. 

"  I'll  take  a  pen,  if  you  please." 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  And  he  hunted  about  again 
in  the  desk,  from  which,  after  awhile,  he 
brought  forth  the  blackened  stump  of  a 
quill,  and  pushed  it  toward  me  across  the 
counter. 

"  Ink,"  said  I— fixing  my  eyes  upon  him 
with  a  look  of  displeasure. 

"I  don't  believe  there  is  any,"  he  mut- 
tered. "Frank,"  and  he  called  the  land- 
lord's son,  going  to  the  door  behind  the  bar 
as  he  did  so. 

"What  d'ye  want?"  a  rough,  ill-natured 
voice  answered. 

"Where's  the  ink?" 

"  Don't  know  anything  about  it." 

"  You  had  it  last.  What  did  you  do  with 
it?" 

"  Nothing !"  was  growled  back. 

"  Well,  I  wish  you'd  find  it." 

"  Find  it  yourself,  and — "  I  cannot  re- 
peat the  profane  language  he  used. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  I.  "  A  pencil  will  do 
just  as  well."  And  I  drew  one  from  my 
pocket.  The  attempt  to  write  with  this,  on 
the  begrimed  and  greasy  page  of  the  register 
was  only  partially  successful.  It  would 
have  puzzled  almost  any  one  to  make  out 
the  name.  From  the  date  of  the  last  entry 
it  appeared  that  mine  was  the  first  arrival  for 
over  a  week  of  any  person  desiring  a  room. 


216  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

As  I  finished  writing  my  name  Frank 
came  stalking  in,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth 
and  a  cloud  of  smoke  around  his  head.  He 
had  grown  into  a  stout  man — though  his 
face  presented  little  that  was  manly,  in  the 
true  sense  of  the  word.  It  was  disgustingly 
sensual.  On  seeing  me  a  slight  flush  tinged 
his  cheeks. 

"  How  do  you  do?"  he  said,  offering  me 
his  hand.  "  Peter," — he  turned  to  the  lazy- 
looking  bar-keeper — "  tell  Jane  to  have  No. 
11  put  in  order  for  a  gentleman  immedi- 
ately, and  tell  her  to  be  sure  and  change  the 
bed-linen." 

"  Things  look  rather  dull  here,"  I  re- 
marked, as  the  bar-keeper  went  out  to  do  as 
he  had  been  directed. 

"  Rather ;  it's  a  dull  place,  anyhow." 

"  How  is  your  mother  ?"  I  inquired. 

A  slight,  troubled  look  came  into  his  face 
as  he  answered — 

"No  better." 

"She's  sick,  then?" 

"  Yes ;  she's  been  sick  a  good  while,  and 
I'm  afraid  will  never  be  much  better."  His 
manner  was  not  altogether  cold  and  indiffer- 
ent, but  there  was  a  want  of  feeling  in  his 
voice. 

"Is  she  at  home?" 

"  No,  sir." 

As  he  showed  no  inclination  to  say  mote 
on  the  subject,  I  asked  no  further  questions, 
and  he  soon  found  occasion  to  leave  me. 


NIGHT  THE  EIGHTH.  217 

The  bar-room  had  undergone  no  material 
change,  so  far  as  its  furniture  and  arrange- 
ments were  concerned;  but  a  very  great 
change  was  apparent  in  the  condition  of 
these.  The  brass  rod  around  the  bar,  which 
at  my  last  visit  was  brightly  polished,  was 
now  a  greenish-black,  and  there  came  from 
it  an  unpleasant  odor  of  verdigris.  The 
walls  were  fairly  coated  with  dust,  smoke 
and  fly-specks,  and  the  windows  let  in  the 
light  but  feebly,  through  the  dirt- obscured 
glass.  The  floor  was  filthy.  Behind  the 
bar,  on  the  shelves  designed  for  a  display  of 
liquors,  was  a  confused  mingling  of  empty 
or  half-filled  decanters,  cigar-boxes,  lemons 
and  lemon-peel,  old  newspapers,  glasses,  a 
broken  pitcher,  a  hat,  a  soiled  vest,  and  a 
pair  of  blacking-brushes,  with  other  incon- 
gruous things,  not  now  remem  bered.  The  air 
of  the  room  was  loaded  with  offensive  vapors. 

Disgusted  with  everything  about  the  bar, 
I  went  into  the  sitting-room.  Here  tbere 
was  some  order  in  the  arrangement  of  the 
Jingy  furniture;  but  you  might  have  writ- 
ten your  name  in  dust  on  the  looking-glass 
and  table.  The  smell  of  the  torpid  atmos- 
phere was  even  worse  than  that  of  the  bar- 
room. So  I  did  not  linger  here,  but  passed 
through  the  hall  and  out  upon  the  porch, 
to  get  a  draught  of  pure  air. 

Slarle  still  sat  leaning  against  the  wall. 

"  Fine  day  this,"  said  he,  speaking  in  a 
mumbling  kind  of  voice. 


218  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-BOOM. 

"  Very  fine,"  I  answered. 

"  Yes,  very  fine." 

"Not  doing  so  well  as  you  were  a  fe* 
years  ago,"  said  I. 

"  No — you  see — these — these  'ere  blamed 
temperance  people  are  ruining  everything." 

"Ah I   Is  that  so?" 

"  Yes.  Cedarville  isn't  what  it  was  when 
fou  first  came  to  the  'Sickle  and  Sheaf.'  I 
— I — you  see.  Curse  the  temperance  peo- 
ple! They've  ruined  everything,  you  see. 
Everything !  Ruined—" 

And  he  muttered  and  mouthed  his  words 
in  such  a  way  that  I  could  understand  but 
little  he  said,  and  in  that  little  there  was 
scarcely  any  coherency.  So  I  left  him,  with 
a  feeling  of  pity  in  my  heart  for  the  wreck 
he  had  become,  and  went  into  the  town  to 
call  upon  one  or  two  gentlemen  with  whom 
I  had  business. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  I  learned 
that  Mrs.  Slade  was  in  an  insane  asylum 
about  five  miles  from  Cedarville.  The  ter- 
rible events  of  the  day  on  which  young 
Hammond  was  murdered  completed  the 
work  of  mental  ruin,  begun  at  the  time  her 
husband  abandoned  the  quiet,  honorable 
calling  of  a  miller  and  became  a  tavern- 
keeper.  Reason  could  hold  its  position  no 
longer.  When  word  came  to  her  that  Willy 
and  his  mother  were  both  dead  she  uttered 
a  wild  shriek  and  fell  down  in  a  fainting  fit. 
From  that  period  the  balance  of  her  mind 


NIGHT  THE  EIGHTH.  219 

was  destroyed.  Long  before  this  her  friends 
saw  that  reason  wavered.  Frank  had  been 
her  idol.  A  pure,  bright,  affectionate  boy 
he  was  when  she  removed  with  him  from 
their  pleasant  cottage-home,  where  all  the 
surrounding  influences  were  good,  into  a 
tavern,  where  an  angel  could  scarcely  re- 
main without  corruption.  From  the  mo- 
ment this  change  was  decided  on  by  her 
husband  a  shadow  fell  upon  her  heart.  She 
saw  before  her  husband,  her  children  and 
herself  a  yawning  pit,  and  felt  that  in  a  very 
few  years  all  of  them  must  plunge  down 
into  its  fearful  darkness. 

Alas !  how  quickly  began  the  realization 
of  her  worst  fears  in  the  corruption  of  her 
worshipped  boy  !  And  how  vain  proved  all 
effort  and  remonstrance  looking  to  his 
safety,  whether  made  with  himself  or  his 
father !  From  the  day  the  tavern  was 
opened,  and  Frank  drew  into  his  lungs  full 
draughts  of  the  changed  atmosphere  by 
which  he  was  now  surrounded,  the  work  of 
moral  deterioration  commenced.  The  very 
smell  of  the  liquor  exhilarated  him  unnatu- 
rally ;  while  the  subjects  of  conversation,  so 
new  to  him,  that  found  discussion  in  the 
bar-room,  soon  came  to  occupy  a  prominent 
place  in  his  imagination,  to  the  exclusion  of 
those  humane,  childlike,  tender  and  heav- 
enly thoughts  and  impressions  it  had  been 
the  mother's  care  to  impart  and  awaken. 

Ah!    with  what  an  eager  zest  does  the 


320  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAE-ROOM. 

Heart  <irink  in  of  evil.  And  how  almost 
hopeless  is  the  case  of  a  boy  surrounded,  as 
Frank  was,  by  the  corrupting,  debasing  as- 
sociations of  a  bar-room !  Had  his  father 
meditated  his  ruin,  he  could  not  have  more 
surely  laid  his  plans  for  the  rearful  consum- 
mation; and  he  reaped  ass  he  had  sown. 
With  a  selfish  desire  to  get  gain  he  embarked 
in  the  trade  of  corruption,  ruin  and  death, 
weakly  believing  that  he  and  his  could  pass 
through  the  fire  harmless.  How  sadly  A  few 
years  demonstrated  his  error  we  have  seen. 

Flora,  I  learned,  was  with  her  mother,  de- 
voting hor  life  to  her.  The  dreadful  death 
of  Willy  Hammond,  for  whom  she  had  con- 
ceived a  stiong  attachment,  came  near  de- 
priving her  of  *eason  also.  Since  the  day 
on  which  that  oiwful  tragedy  occurred  she 
had  never  even  looked  upon  her  old  home. 
She  went  away  with  her  unconscious  mother, 
and  ever  since  had  remained  with  her,  de- 
voting her  life  to  her  comfort.  Long  befor-o 
this  all  her  own  and  mother's  influence  over 
her  brother  had  come  to  an  end.  It  mat- 
tered not  how  she  sought  ic  &tay  his  feet,  So. 
swiftly  moving  along  the  downward  way, 
whether  by  gentle  entreaty,  earnest  remon- 
strance, or  tears ;  in  either  case,  wounds  fo* 
her  own  heart  were  the  sure  consequences, 
while  his  steps  never  lingered  a  moment.  A' 
swift  destiny  seemed  hurrying  him  on  to 
ruin.  The  change  in  her  father — once  so 
tender,  so  cheerful  in  his  tone,  so  proud  of 


NIGHT  THE  EIGHTH.  221 

and  loving  toward  his  daughter — was  an- 
other source  of  deep  grief  to  her  pure  young 
spirit.  Over  him,  as  well  as  over  her  brother, 
all  her  power  was  lost ;  and  he  even  avoided 
her,  as  though  her  presence  were  an  offence 
to  him.  And  so  when  she  went  out  from 
her  unhappy  home  she  took  with  her  no  de- 
oire  to  return.  Even  when  imagination  bore 
her  back  to  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  she  felt 
an  intense,  heart-sickening  repulsion  toward 
the  place  where  she  had  first  felt  the  poi- 
soned arrows  of  life;  and  in  the  depths  of 
her  spirit  she  prayed  that  her  eyes  might 
never  look  upon  it  again.  In  her  almost 
cloister-like  seclusion  she  sought  to  gather 
the  mantle  of  oblivion  about  her  heart. 

Had  not  her  mother's  condition  made 
Flora's  duty  a  plain  one,  the  true,  unselfish 
instincts  of  her  heart  would  have  doubtless 
led  her  back  to  the  polluted  home  she  had 
left,  there,  in  a  kind  of  living  death,  to  min- 
ister as  best  she  could  to  the  comfort  of  a 
debased  father  and  brother.  But  she  was 
spared  that  trial — that  fruitless  sacrifice. 

Evening  found  me  once  more  in  the  bar- 
room of  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf."  The  sleepy, 
indifferent  bar-keeper  was  now  more  in  his 
element,  looked  brighter,  and  had  quicker 
motions.  Slade,  who  had  partially  recov- 
ered from  the  stupefying  effects  of  the  heavy 
draughts  of  ale  with  which  he  washed  down 
his  dinner,  was  also  in  a  better  condition, 
though  not  inclined  to  talk.  He  was  sitting 


222  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

at  a  table,  alone,  with  his  eyes  wandering 
about  the  room.  Whether  his  thoughts  were 
agreeable  or  disagreeable  it  was  not  easy  to 
determine.  Frank  was  there,  the  centre  of  a 
noisy  group  of  coarse  fellows,  whose  vulgar 
sayings  and  profane  expletives  continually 
rung  through  the  room.  The  noisiest, 
coarsest  and  most  profane  was  Frank  Slade, 
yet  did  not  the  incessant  volume  of  bad  lan- 
guage that  flowed  from  his  tongue  appear  in 
the  least  to  disturb  his  father. 

Outraged,  at  length,  by  this  disgusting  ex- 
hibition, that  had  not  even  the  excuse  of  an 
exciting  cause,  I  was  leaving  the  bar-room, 
when  I  heard  some  one  remark  to  a  young 
man  who  had  just  come  in — 

"  What !  you  here  again,  Ned?  Ain't  you 
afraid  your  old  man  will  be  after  you,  as 
usual?" 

"No,"  answered  the  person  addressed, 
chuckling  inwardly,  "he's  gone  to  a  prayer- 
meeting." 

"  You'll  at  least  have  the  benefit  of  his 
prayers,"  was  lightly  remarked. 

I  turned  to  observe  the  young  man  more 
closely.  His  face  I  remembered,  though  I 
could  not  identify  him  at  first.  But  when  I 
heard  him  addressed  soon  after  as  Ned  Har- 
grove, I  had  a  vivid  recollection  of  a  little 
incident  that  occurred  some  years  before, 
and  which  then  made  a  strong  impression. 
The  reader  has  hardly  forgotten  the  visit  of 
Mr.  Hargrove  to  the  bar-room  of  the  "Sickle 


NIGHT  THE  EIGHTS.  22b 

and  Sheaf,"  and  the  conversation  among 
some  of  its  inmates,  which  his  withdrawal, 
in  company  with  his  son,  then  occasioned. 
The  father's  watchfulness  over  his  boy,  and 
his  efforts  to  save  him  from  the  allurements 
and  temptations  of  a  bar-room,  had  proved, 
as  now  appeared,  unavailing.  The  son 
was  several  years  older ;  but  it  was  sadly 
evident,  from  the  expression  of  his  face, 
that  he  had  been  growing  older  in  evil  faster 
than  in  years. 

The  few  words  that  I  have  mentioned  as 
passing  between  this  young  man  and  an- 
other inmate  of  the  bar-room  caused  me  to 
turn  back  from  the  door,  through  which  I 
was  about  passing,  and  take  a  chair  near  to 
where  Hargrove  had  seated  himself.  As  I 
did  so,  the  eyes  of  Simon  Slade  rested  on 
the  last-named  individual. 

"  Ned  Hargrove  1 "  he  said,  speaking 
roughly — "  if  you  want  a  drink,  you'd  better 
get  it  and  make  yourself  scarce." 

"Don't  trouble  yourself,"  retorted  the 
young  man,  "  you'll  get  your  money  for  the 
drink  in  good  time." 

This  irritated  the  landlord,  who  swore  at 
Hargrove  violently,  and  said  something 
about  not  wanting  boys  about  his  place  who 
couldn't  stir  from  home  without  having 
"  daddy  or  mammy  running  after  them." 

"Never  fear!"  cried  out  the  person  who 
had  first  addressed  Hargrove — "  his  old 
man's  gone  to  a  prayer-meeting.  We  shan't 


224  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-EOOM. 

have  the  light  of  his  pious  countenance  here 
to-night." 

I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  the  young  man  to 
see  what  effect  this  coarse  and  irreverent  al- 
lusion to  his  father  would  have.  A  slight 
tinge  of  shame  was  in  his  face ;  but  I  saw 
that  he  had  not  sufficient  moral  courage  to 
resent  the  shameful  desecration  of  a  parent's 
name.  How  should  he,  when  he  was  him- 
self the  first  to  desecrate  that  name? 

"  If  he  were  forty  fathoms  deep  in  the  in- 
fernal regions,"  answered  Slade,  "  he'd  find 
out  that  Ned  was  here,  and  get  half  an 
hour's  leave  of  absence  to  come  after  him. 
The  fact  is,  I'm  tired  of  seeing  his  solemn, 
sanctimonious  face  here  every  night.  If  the 
boy  hasn't  spirit  enough  to  tell  him  to  mind 
his  own  business,  as  I  have  done  more  than 
fifty  times,  why  let  the  boy  stay  away  him- 
self." 

"  Why  don't  you  send  him  off  with  a  flea 
in  his  ear,  Ned  ?"  said  one  of  the  company, 
a  young  man  scarcely  his  own  age.  "  My 
old  man  tried  that  game  with  me,  but  he 
soon  found  that  I  could  hold  the  winning 
cards." 

"  Just  what  I'm  going  to  do  the  very  next 
time  he  comes  after  me." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  So  you've  said  twenty  times," 
remarked  Frank  Slade,  in  a  sneering,  inso- 
lent manner. 

Edward  Hargrove  had  not  the  spirit  to 
resent  this ;  he  only  answered, 


NIGHT  THE  EIGHTH.  225 

"  Just  let  him  show  himself  here  to-night, 
and  you  will  see." 

"  No,  we  won't  see,"  sneered  Frank. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  fun  I"  was  exclaimed. 
"  I  hope  to  be  on  hand,  should  it  ever  come 
off." 

"  He's  as  'fraid  as  death  of  the  old  chap," 
laughed  a  sottish-looking  man,  whose  age 
ought  to  have  inspired  him  with  some  re- 
spect for  the  relation  between  father  and 
eon;  and  doubtless  would,  had  not  a  long 
course  of  drinking  and  familiarity  with  de- 
basing associates  blunted  his  moral  sense. 

"  Now  for  it  I"  I  heard  uttered,  in  a  quick, 
delighted  voice.  "  Now  for  fun  1  Spunk  up 
to  him,  Ned !  Never  say  die  1" 

I  turned  toward  the  door,  and  there  stood 
the  father  of  Edward  Hargrove.  How  well 
I  remembered  the  broad,  fine  forehead,  the 
steady  yet  mild  eyes,  the  firm  lips,  the  ele- 
vated, superior  bearing  of  the  man  I  had 
once  before  seen  in  that  place,  and  on  a  like 
errand.  His  form  was  slightly  bent  now, 
his  hair  was  whiter,  his  eyes  farther  back  in 
his  head,  his  face  thinner  and  marked  with 
deeper  lines,  and  there  was  in  the  whole  ex- 
pression of  his  face  a  touching  sadness. 
Yet,  superior  to  the  marks  of  time  and  suf- 
fering, an  unflinching  resolution  was  visible 
in  his  countenance  that  gave  to  it  a  dignity 
and  extorted  involuntary  respect.  He  stood 
still,  after  advancing  a  few  paces,  and  then, 
his  searching  eyes  having  discovered  his  son, 

TI 


226  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-BOOM. 

he  said  mildly,  yet  firmly,  and  with  such 
a  strength  of  parental  love  in  his  voice  that 
resistance  was  scarcely  possible: 

"  Edward  I     Edward  1     Come,  my  son." 

"Don't  go."  The  words  were  spoken  in 
an  undertone,  and  he  who  uttered  them 
turned  his  face  away  from  Mr.  Hargrove,  so 
that  the  old  man  could  not  see  the  motion 
of  his  lips.  A  little  while  before  he  had 
spoken  bravely  against  the  father  of  Ed- 
ward, now  he  could  not  stand  up  in  his 
presence. 

I  looked  at  Edward.  He  did  not  move 
from  where  he  was  sitting,  and  yet  I  saw 
that  to  resist  his  father  cost  him  no  light 
struggle. 

"  Edward."  There  was  nothing  impera- 
tive— nothing  stern — nothing  commanding 
in  the  father's  voice,  but  its  great,  its  almost 
irresistible  power,  lay  in  its  expression  of 
the  father's  belief  that  his  son  would  in- 
stantly leave  the  place.  And  it  was  this 
power  that  prevailed.  Edward  arose,  and, 
with  eyes  cast  upon  the  floor,  was  moving 
away  from  his  companions,  when  Frank 
Slade  exclaimed, 

"  Poor,  weak  fool !" 

It  was  a  lightning  flash  of  indignation, 
rather  than  a  mere  glance  from  the  human 
eye,  that  Mr.  Hargrove  threw  instantly  upon 
Frank,  while  his  fine  form  sprung  up  erect. 
He  did  not  speak,  but  merely  transfixed  him 
with  a  look.  Frank  curled  his  lip  impo- 


NIGHT  THE  EIGHTH.  227 

tently,  as  he  tried  to  return  the  old  man's- 
withering  glances. 

"  Now  look  here !"  said  Simon  Slade,  in 
some  wrath, "  there's  been  just  about  enough, 
of  this.  I'm  getting  tired  of  it.  Why  don't 
you  keep  Ned  at  home  ?  Nobody  wants 
him  here." 

"  Refuse  to  sell  him  liquor,"  returned  Mr. 
Hargrove. 

''It's  my  trade  to  sell  liquor,"  answered 
Slade,  boldly. 

"  I  wish  you  had  a  more  honorable  call- 
ing," said  Hargrove,  almost  mournfully. 

"  If  you  insult  my  father  I'll  strike  you 
down !"  exclaimed  Frank  Slade,  starting  up 
and  assuming  a  threatening  aspect. 

"  I  respect  filial  devotion,  meet  it  where  I 
will,"  calmly  replied  Mr.  Hargrove,  —  "I 
only  wish  it  had  a  better  foundation  in  this- 
case.  I  only  wish  the  father  had  merited — 'x 

I  will  not  stain  my  page  with  the  fearful 
oath  that  Frank  Siade  yelled,  rather  than 
uttered,  as  with  clenched  fist  he  sprung  to- 
ward Mr.  Hargrove.  But  ere  he  had  reached 
the  unruffled  old  man — who  stood  looking 
at  him  as  one  would  look  into  the  eyes  of  a. 
wild  beast,  confident  that  he  could  not  stand 
the  gaze — a  firm  hand  grasped  his  arm,  and 
a  rough  voice  said — 

"  Avast  there,  young  man  !  Touch  a  hair 
of  that  white  head,  and  I'll  wring  vour  neck 
off." 

"  Lyon  !"     As  Frank  uttered  the  man'& 


228  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  DAB-ROOM. 

name  he  raised  his  fist  to  strike  him.  A 
moment  the  clenched  hand  remained  poised 
in  the  air,  then  it  fell  slowly  to  his  side,  and 
he  contented  himself  with  an  oath  and  a  vile 
epithet. 

u  You  can  swear  to  your  heart's  content. 
Tt  will  do  nobody  any  harm  but  yourself," 
Coolly  replied  Mr.  Lyon,  whom  I  now  recog- 
nized as  the  person  with  whom  I  had  held 
several  conversations  during  previous  visits. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Lyon/'  said  Mr.  Har- 
grove, "  for  this  manly  interference.  It  is 
no  more  than  I  should  have  expected  from 
you." 

"  I  never  suffer  a  young  man  to  strike  an 
old  man,'1  said  Lyon, firmly.  "  Apart  from 
that,  Mr.  Hargrove,  there  are  other  reasons 
why  your  person  must  be  free  from  violence 
where  I  am." 

"  This  is  a  bad  place  for  you,  Lyon,"  said 
Mr.  Hargrove,  "  and  I've  said  so  to  you  a 
good  many  times."  He  spoke  in  rather  an 
undertone.  "  Why  will  you  come  here  ?" 

"It's  a  bad  place,  I  know,"  replied  Lyon, 
speaking  out  boldly,  "  and  we  all  know  it. 
But  habit,  Mr.  Hargrove — habit.  That's  the 
cursed  thing!  If  the  bar-rooms  were  all 
shut  up  there  would  be  another  story  to  tell. 
Get  us  the  Maine  law,  and  there  will  be  some 
chance  for  us." 

"  Why  don't  you  vote  the  temperance 
ticket  ?''  asked  Mr.  Hargrove. 

"Why  did  I?  you'd  better  ask,"  said  Lyon. 


NIGHT  THE  EIGHTH.  22£ 

"  I  thought  you  voted  against  us." 

"Not  I.  Ain't  quite  so  blind  to  my  own 
interests  as  that.  And,  if  the  truth  were 
known,  I  should  not  at  all  wonder  if  every 
man  in  this  room,  except  Slade  and  his  son, 
voted  on  your  side  of  the  house." 

"  It's  a  little  strange,  then,"  said  Mr.  Har- 
grove, "  that  with  the  drinking  men  on  our 
side,  we  failed  to  secure  the  election." 

"  You  must  blame  that  on  your  moderate 
men,  who  see  no  danger  and  go  blind  with 
their  party,"  answered  Lyon.  "  We  have 
looked  the  evil  in  the  face,  and  know  its 
direful  quality." 

"Come!  I  would  like  to  talk  with  you, 
Mr.  Lyon." 

Mr.  Hargrove,  his  son,  and  Mr.  Lyon  went 
out  together.  As  they  left  the  room,  Frank 
Slade  said — 

'  What  a  cursed  liar  and  hypocrite  he  isP 
'Who?"  was  asked. 

'Why,  Lyon,"  answered  Frank,  boldly. 
'  You'd  better  say  that  to  his  face." 
'  It  wouldn't  be  good  for  him,"  remarked 
one  of  the  company. 

At  this  Frank  started  to  his  feet,  stalked 
about  the  room,  and  put  on  all  the  disgust- 
ing airs  of  a  drunken  braggart.  Even  hi» 
father  saw  the  ridiculous  figure  he  cut,  and 
growled  out— 

"  There,  Frank,  that'll  do.  Don't  make  a 
miserable  fool  of  yourself!" 

At  which  Frank  retorted  with  so  much  of 


230  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

insolence  that  his  father  flew  into  a  tower- 
ing passion,  and  ordered  him  to  leave  the 
bar-room. 

"  You  can  go  out  yourself  if  you  don't 
like  the  company.  I'm  very  well  satisfied," 
answered  Frank. 

"  Leave  this  room,  you  impudent  young 
scoundrel!" 

"  Can't  go,  my  amiable  friend,"  said 
Frank,  with  a  cool  self-possession  that  mad- 
dened his  father,  who  got  up  hastily  and 
moved  across  the  bar-room  to  the  place 
where  he  was  standing. 

"  Go  out,  I  tell  you  ."  Slade  spoke  reso- 
lutely. 

"  Would  be  happy  to  oblige  you,"  Frank 
said,  in  a  taunting  voice,  "but,  'pon  my 
word,  it  isn't  at  all  convenient." 

Half-intoxicated  as  he  was,  and  already 
nearly  blind  with  passion,  Slade  lifted  his 
hand  to  strike  his  son,  and  the  blow  would 
have  fallen  had  not  someone  caught  his  arm 
and  held  him  back  from  the  meditated  vio- 
lence. Even  the  debased  visitors  of  this  bar- 
room could  not  stand  by  and  see  nature  out- 
raged in  a  bloody  strife  between  father  and 
eon,  for  it  was  plain  from  the  face  and  quickly 
assumed  attitude  of  Frank  that  if  his  father 
had  laid  his  hand  upon  him  he  would  have 
struck  him  in  return. 

I  could  not  remain  to  hear  the  awful  im- 
precations that  father  and  son  in  their  im- 
potent rage  called  down  from  heaven  upon 


NIGHT  THE  EIGHTH.  231 

each  other's  heads.  It  was  the  most  shock- 
ing exhibition  of  depraved  human  nature- 
that  I  had  ever  seen.  And  so  I  left  the  bar- 
room, glad  to  escape  from  its  stifling  atmos- 
phere and  revolting  scenes. 


NIGHT   THE   NINTH. 

A  Fearful  Consummation. 

NEITHER  Slade  nor  his  son  was  present  at 
the  breakfast  table  on  the  next  morning. 
As  for  myself,  I  did  not  eat  with  much  appe- 
tite. Whether  this  defect  arose  from  the 
state  of  my  mind  or  the  state  of  the  food  set 
before  me  I  did  not  stop  to  inquire,  but  left 
the  stifling,  offensive  atmosphere  of  the  din- 
ing-room in  a  very  few  moments  after  enter- 
ing that  usually  attractive  place  for  a  hungry 
man. 

A  few  early  drinkers  were  already  in  the 
bar-room — men  with  shattered  nerves  and 
cadaverous  faces,  who  could  not  begin  the 
day's  work  without  the  stimulus  of  brandy 
or  whisky.  They  came  in  with  gliding  foot- 
steps, asked  for  what  they  wanted  in  low 
voices,  drank  in  silence,  and  departed.  It 
was  a  melancholy  sight  to  look  upon. 

About  nine  o'clock  the  landlord  made  his 
appearance.  He,  too,  came  gliding  into  the 
bar-room,  and  his  first  act  was  to  seize  upon 
a  brandy  decanter,  pour  out  nearly  half  a 
pint  of  the  fiery  liquid  and  drink  it  off. 
How  badly  his  hand  shook — so  badly  that 
he  spilled  the  brandy  both  in  pouring  it  out 
and  in  lifting  the  glass  to  his  lips  !  What  a 
(232) 


NIGHT  THE  NINTH.  233 

shattered  wreck  he  was !  He  looked  really 
worse  now  than  he  did  on  the  day  before, 
when  drink  gave  an  artificial  vitality  to  his 
system,  a  tension  to  his  muscles,  and  light 
to  his  countenance.  The  miller  of  ten  years 
ago,  and  the  tavern-keeper  of  to-day  !  Who 
could  have  identified  them  as  one  ? 

Slade  was  turning  from  the  bar  when  a 
man  came  in.  I  noticed  an  instant  change 
in  the  landlord's  countenance.  He  looked 
startled,  almost  frightened.  The  man  drew 
a  small  package  from  his  pocket,  and  after 
selecting  a  paper  therefrom,  presented  it  to 
Slade,  who  received  it  with  a  nervous  reluc- 
tance, opened  and  let  his  eye  fall  upon  the 
writing  within.  I  was  observing  him  closely 
at  the  time,  and  saw  his  countenance  flush 
deeply.  In  a  moment  or  two  it  became  pale 
again — paler  even  than  before. 

"  Very  well— all  right.  I'll  attend  to  it," 
said  the  landlord,  trying  to  recover  himself, 
yet  swallowing  with  every  sentence. 

The  man,  who  was  no  other  than  the 
sheriffs  deputy,  and  who  gave  him  a  sober, 
professional  look,  then  went  out  with  a  firm 
step  and  an  air  of  importance.  As  he  passed 
through  the  outer  door  Slade  retired  from 
the  bar-room. 

"  Trouble  coming,"  I  heard  the  bar-keeper 
remark,  speaking  partly  to  himself  and 
partly  with  the  view,  as  was  evident  from  his 
manner,  of  leading  me  to  question  him. 
But  this  I  did  not  feel  that  it  was  right  to  do. 


234  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-BOOM. 

"  Got  the  sheriff  on  him  at  last,"  added 
the  bar-keeper. 

"What's  the  matter,  Bill?"  inquired  a 
man  who  now  came  in  with  a  bustling,  im- 
portant air,  and  leaned  familiarly  over  the 
bar.  "  Who  was  Jenkins  after  ?" 

"  The  old  man,"  replied  the  bar-keeper,  in 
a  voice  that  showed  pleasure  rather  than  re- 
gret. 

"No!" 

"It's  a  fact."  Bill,  the  bar-keeper,  act- 
ually smiled. 

"  What's  to  pay  ?"  said  the  man. 

"  Don't  know,  and  don't  care  much." 

"Did  he  serve  a  summons  or  an  execu- 
tion?" 

"  Can't  tell." 

"  Judge  Lyman 's  suit  went  against  him." 

"Did  it?"' 

"  Yes ;  and  I  heard  Judge  Lyman  swear 
that  if  he  got  him  on  the  hip  he'd  sell  him 
out,  bag  and  basket.  And  he's  the  man  to 
keep  his  word." 

"  I  never  could  just  make  out,"  said  the 
bar-keeper,  "  how  he  ever  came  to  owe  Judge 
Lyman  so  much.  I've  never  known  of  any 
business  transactions  between  them." 

"  It's  been  dog  eat  dog,  I  rather  guess," 
said  the  man. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  inquired 
the  bar-keeper. 

"  You've  heard  of  dogs  hunting  in  pairs  ?" 

"Oh,  yes." 


NIGHT  THE  NINTH.  235 

"  Well,  since  Harvey  Green  got  his  de- 
serts, the  business  of  fleecing  our  silly  young 
fellows  who  happened  to  have  more  money 
than  wit  or  discretion  has  been  in  the  hands 
of  Judge  Lyman  and  Slade.  They  hunted 
together,  Slade  holding  the  game  while  the 
Judge  acted  as  blood-sucker.  But  that  busi- 
ness was  interrupted  about  a  year  ago,  and 
game  got  so  scarce  that,  as  I  suggested,  dog 
began  to  eat  dog.  And  here  comes  the  end 
of  the  matter,  if  I'm  not  mistaken.  So  mix 
us  a  stiff  toddy.  I  want  one  more  good 
drink  at  the  'Sickle  and  Sheaf  before  the 
colors  are  struck." 

And  the  man  chuckled  at  his  witty  effort. 

During  the  day  I  learned  that  affairs  stood 
pretty  much  as  this  man  had  conjectured. 
Ly  man's  suits  had  been  on  sundry  notes, 
payable  on  demand  ;  but  nobody  knew  of 
any  property  transactions  between  him  and 
Slade.  On  the  part  of  Slade  no  defence  had 
been  made,  the  suit  going  by  default.  The 
visit  of  the  sheriff's  officer  was  for  the  pur- 
pose of  serving  an  execution. 

As  I  walked  through  Cedarville  on  that 
day  the  whole  aspect  of  the  place  seemed 
changed.  I  questioned  with  myself  often 
whether  this  were  really  so  or  only  the  effect 
of  imagination.  The  change  was  from  cheer- 
fulness and  thrift  to  gloom  and  neglect. 
There  was  to  me  a  brooding  silence  in  the 
air,  a  pause  in  the  life-movement,  a  folding 
of  the  hands,  so  to  speak,  because  hope  had 


236  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

failed  from  the  heart.  The  residence  of  Mr. 
Harrison,  who  some  two  years  before  had 
suddenly  awakened  to  a  lively  sense  of  the 
evil  of  rum-selling,  because  his  own  sons 
were  discovered  to  be  in  danger,  had  been 
one  of  the  most  tasteful  in  Cedarville.  I  had 
often  stopped  to  admire  the  beautiful  shrub- 
bery and  flowers  with  which  it  was  sur- 
rounded ;  the  walks  so  clear — the  borders 
so  fresh  and  even — the  arbors  so  cool  and 
inviting.  There  was  not  a  spot  upon  which 
the  eye  could  rest  that  did  not  show  the 
hand  of  taste.  When  I  now  came  opposite 
to  this  house  I  was  no  longer  in  doubt  as  to 
the  actuality  of  a  change.  There  was  no 
marked  evidences  of  neglect,  but  the  high 
cultivation  and  nice  regard  for  the  small  de- 
tails were  lacking.  The  walks  were  cleanly 
swept;  but  the  box-borders  were  not  so 
carefully  trimmed.  The  vines  and  bushes, 
that  in  former  times  were  cut  and  tied  so 
evenly,  could  hardly  have  felt  the  keen 
touch  of  the  pruning-knife  for  months. 

As  I  paused  to  note  the  change,  a  lady, 
somewhat  beyond  the  middle  age,  came  from 
the  house.  I  was  struck  by  the  deep  gloom 
that  overshadowed  her  countenance.  Ah  ! 
said  I  to  myself,  as  I  passed  on,  how  many 
dear  hopes  that  once  lived  in  that  heart 
must  have  been  scattered  to  the  winds.  As 
I  conjectured,  this  was  Mrs.  Harrison,  and  I 
was  not  unprepared  to  hear,  as  I  did  a  few 
hours  afterward,  that  her  two  sons  had  fallen 


NIGHT  THE  NINTH.  23} 

into  drinking  habits ;  and  not  only  this,  had 
been  enticed  to  the  gaming-table.  Unhappy 
mother!  What  a  lifetime  of  wretchedness 
was  compressed  for  thee  into  a  few  short 
years ! 

I  walked  on,  noting  here  and  there 
changes  even  more  marked  than  appeared 
about  the  residence  of  Mr.  Harrison.  Judge 
Lyman's  beautiful  place  showed  utter  ne- 
glect ;  and  so  did  one  or  two  others  that  on 
my  first  visit  to  Cedarivlle  charmed  me  with 
their  order,  neatness,  and  cultivation.  In 
every  instance  I  learned,  on  inquiring,  that 
the  owners  of  these,  or  some  members  of 
their  families,  were,  or  had  been,  visitors  at 
the  u  Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  and  that  the  ruin, 
in  progress  or  completed,  began  after  the 
establishment  of  that  point  of  attraction  in 
the  village. 

Something  of  a  morbid  curiosity,  excited 
by  what  I  saw,  led  me  on  to  take  a  closer 
view  of  the  residence  of  Judge  Hammond 
than  I  had  obtained  on  the  day  before.  The 
first  thing  that  I  noticed  on  approaching  the 
old,  decaying  mansion  were  handbills  posted 
on  the  gate,  the  front  door,  and  on  one  of  the 
windows.  A  nearer  inspection  revealed  their 
import.  The  property  had  been  seized,  and 
was  now  offered  at  sheriff's  sale! 

Ten  years  before  Judge  Hammond  was 
known  as  the  richest  man  in  Cedarville ; 
and  now  the  homestead  he  had  once  so  loved 
to  beautify — where  all  that  was  dearest  to 


238  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

him  in  life  once  gathered — worn,  disfigured 
and  in  ruins,  was  about  being  wrested  from 
him.  I  paused  at  the  gate,  and  leaning  over 
it  looked  with  saddened  feelings  upon  the 
dreary  waste  within.  No  sign  of  life  was 
visible.  The  door  was  shut— the  windows 
closed — not  the  faintest  wreath  of  smoke  was 
seen  above  the  blackened  chimney-tops. 
How  vividly  did  imagination  restore  the  life, 
and  beauty,  and  happiness  that  made  their 
home  there  only  a  few  years  before — the 
mother  and  her  noble  boy,  one  looking  with 
trembling  hope,  the  other  with  joyous  confi- 
dence, into  the  future — the  father  proud  of 
his  household  treasures,  but  not  their  wise 
and  jealous  guardian. 

Ah  !  that  his  hands  should  have  unbarred 
the  door  and  thrown  it  wide  for  the  wolf  to 
•enter  that  precious  fold  !  I  saw  them  all  in 
their  sunny  life  before  me,  yet  even  as  I 
looked  upon  them  their  sky  began  to  darken. 
I  heard  the  distant  mutterings  of  the  storm, 
and  soon  the  desolating  tempest  swept  down 
fearfully  upon  them.  I  shuddered,  as  it 
passed  away,  to  look  upon  the  wrecks  left 
scattered  around.  What  a  change! 

"  And  all  this,"  said  I,  "  that  one  man. 
tired  of  being  useful  and  eager  to  get  gain^ 
might  gather  in  accursed  gold !" 

Pushing  open  the  gate  I  entered  the  yard 
and  walked  around  the  dwelling,  my  foot- 
steps echoing  in  the  hushed  solitude  of  the  de- 
serted place.  Hark!  was  that  a  human  voice? 


NIGHT  THE  NINTH.  239 

I  paused  to  listen. 

The  sound  came  once  more  distinctly  to 
my  ears.  I  looked  around,  above,  every- 
where, but  perceived  no  living  sign.  For 
nearly  a  minute  I  stood  still,  listening. 
Yes,  there  it  was  again — a  low,  moaning 
voice,  as  of  one  in  pain  or  grief.  I  stepped 
onward  a  few  paces,  and  now  saw  one  of  the 
doors  standing  ajar.  As  I  pushed  this  door 
wide  open  the  moan  was  repeated.  Follow- 
ing the  direction  from  which  the  sound 
came,  I  entered  one  of  the  large  drawing- 
rooms.  The  atmosphere  was  stifling,  and 
all  as  dark  as  if  it  were  midnight.  Groping 
my  way  to  a  window,  I  drew  back  the  bolt 
and  threw  open  a  shutter.  Broadly  the  light 
fell  across  the  dusty,  uncarpeted  floor,  and 
on  the  dingy  furniture  of  the  room.  As  it 
did  so  the  moaning  voice  which  had  drawn 
me  thither  swelled  on  the  air  again,  and  now 
I  saw  lying  upon  an  old  sofa  the  form  of  a 
man.  It  needed  no  second  glance  to  tell  me 
that  this  was  Judge  Hammond.  I  put  my 
hand  upon  him  and  uttered  his  name,  but 
he  answered  not.  I  spoke  more  firmly,  and 
slightly  shook  him,  but  only  a  piteous  moan 
was  returned. 

"Judge  Hammond  !"  I  now  called  aloud, 
and  somewhat  imperatively. 

But  it  availed  nothing.  The  poor  old  man 
aroused  not  from  the  stupor  in  which  mind 
and  body  were  enshrouded. 

"  He  is  dying  I"  thought  I,  and  instantly 


240  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAB-ROOM. 

left  the  house  in  search  of  some  friends  to 
take  charge  of  him  in  his  last  sad  extremity. 
The  first  person  to  whom  I  made  known  the 
fact  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said  it  was 
no  affair  of  his,  and  that  I  must  find  some- 
body whose  business  it  was  to  attend  to  him. 
My  next  application  was  met  in  the  same 
spirit,  and  no  better  success  attended  my 
reference  of  the  matter  to  a  third  party.  No 
one  to  whom  I  spoke  seemed  to  have  any 
sympathy  for  the  broken-down  old  man. 
Shocked  by  this  indifference,  I  went  to  one 
of  the  county  officers,  who,  on  learning  the 
condition  of  Judge  Hammond,  took  imme- 
diate steps  to  have  him  removed  to  the 
Almshouse,  some  miles  distant. 

"  But  why  to  the  Almshouse?"  I  inquired, 
on  learning  his  purpose.  "He  has  property." 

"Everything  has  been  seized  for  debt," 
was  the  reply. 

"  Will  there  be  nothing  left  after  his  cred- 
itors are  satisfied  ?" 

"  Very  few,  if  any,  will  be  satisfied,"  he 
answered.  "There  will  not  be  enough  to 
pay  half  the  judgments  against  him." 

"  And  is  there  no  friend  to  take  him  in, — 
no  one,  of  all  who  moved  by  his  side  in  the 
days  of  prosperity,  to  give  a  few  hours'  shel- 
ter and  soothe  the  last  moments  of  his  un- 
happy life  ?" 

"  Why  did  you  make  application  here?" 
was  the  officer's  significant  question. 

I  was  silent. 


NIGHT  THE  NINTH.  241 

"Your  earnest  appeals  for  the  poor  old 
man  met  with  no  words  of  sympathy  ?" 

"  None." 

"  He  has,  indeed,  fallen  low.  In  the  days 
of  his  prosperity  he  had  many  friends,  so- 
called.  Adversity  has  shaken  them  all  like 
dead  leaves  from  sapless  branches." 

"  But  why  ?     This  is  not  always  so.'' 

"  Judge  Hammond  was  a  selfish,  worldly 
man.  People  never  liked  him  much.  His 
favoring  so  strongly  the  tavern  of  Slade,  and 
his  distillery  operations,  turned  from  him 
some  of  his  best  friends.  The  corruption 
and  terrible  fate  of  his  son — and  the  insanity 
and  death  of  his  wife — all  were  charged 
upon  him  in  people's  minds,  and  everyone 
seemed  to  turn  from  him  instinctively  after 
the  fearful  tragedy  was  completed.  He 
never  held  up  his  head  afterward.  Neigh- 
bors shunned  him  as  they  would  a  criminal. 
And  here  has  come  the  end  at  last.  He 
will  be  taken  to  the  Poorhouse,  to  die  there 
— a  pauper !" 

"And  all,"  said  I,  partly  speaking  to  my- 
self, ''  because  a  man  too  lazy  to  work  at  an 
honest  calling  must  needs  go  to  rum- 
selling." 

"  The  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing 
but  the  truth,"  remarked  the  officer  with 
emphasis,  as  he  turned  from  me  to  see  that 
his  directions  touching  the  removal  of  Mr. 
Hammond  to  the  Poorhouse  were  promptly 
executed. 


242  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

In  my  wanderings  about  Cedarville  during 
that  day  I  noticed  a  small  bw*  very  neat 
cottage  a  little  way  from  the  centre  of  the 
village.  There  was  not  around  it  a  great 
profusion  of  flowers  and  shrubbery,  but  the 
few  vines,  flowers  and  bushes  that  grew 
green  and  flourishing  about  the  door  and 
along  the  clean  walks  added  to  the  air  of 
taste  and  comfort  that  so  peculiarly  marked 
the  dwelling. 

"Who  lives  in  that  pleasant  little  spot?" 
I  asked  of  a  man  whom  I  had  frequently 
seen  in  Slade's  bar-room.  He  happened  to 
be  passing  the  house  at  the  same  time  that 
I  was. 

"Joe  Morgan,"  was  answered. 

"Indeed!"  I  spoke  in  some  surprise. 
"  And  what  of  Morgan  ?  How  is  he  doing  ?" 

"  Very  well." 

"Doesn't  he  drink?" 

"  No.  Since  the  death  of  his  child  he 
has  never  taken  a  drop.  That  event  sobered 
him,  and  he  has  remained  sober  ever  sb»3e." 

"What  is  he  doing?" 

"  Working  at  his  old  trade." 

"That  of  a  miller?" 

"Yes.  After  Judge  Hammond  broke 
down,  the  distillery  apparatus  and  cotton- 
spinning  machinery  were  all  sold  and  re- 
moved from  Cedarville.  The  purchaser  of 
what  remained,  having  something  of  the  fear 
of  God,  as  well  as  regard  for  man  in  his 
heart,  set  himself  to  the  restoration  of  the 


NIGHT  THE  NINTH.  243 

old  order  of  things,  and  in  due  time  the  re- 
volving millwheel  was  at  its  old  and  bettei 
work  of  grinding  corn  and  wheat  for  bread. 
The  only  two  men  in  Cedarville  competent 
to  take  charge  of  the  mill  were  Simon  Slade 
and  Joe  Morgan.  The  first  could  not  be 
had,  and  the  second  came  in  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

"  And  he  remains  sober  and  industrious?" 

"  As  any  man  in  the  village,"  was  the  an- 
Bwer. 

I  saw  but  little  of  Slade  or  his  son  during 
the  day.  But  both  were  in  the  bar-room  at 
night,  and  both  in  a  condition  sorrowful  to 
look  upon.  Their  presence,  together,  in  the 
bar-room,  half-intoxicated  as  they  were, 
seemed  to  revive  the  unhappy  temper  of  the 
previous  evening  as  freshly  as  if  the  sun 
had  not  risen  and  set  upon  their  anger. 

During  the  early  part  of  the  evening  con- 
siderable company  was  present,  though  not 
of  a  very  select  class.  A  large  proportion 
were  young  men.  To  most  of  them  the  fact 
that  Slade  had  fallen  into  the  sheriff's  hands 
was  known  ;  and  I  gathered  from  some  aside 
conversation  which  reached  my  ears  that 
Frank's  idle,  spendthrift  habits  had  hast- 
ened the  present  crisis  in  his  father's  affairs. 
He  too  was  in  debt  to  Judge  Lyman— on 
what  account  it  was  not  hard  to  infer. 

It  was  after  nine  o'clock,  and  there  was 
not  half  a  dozen  persons  in  the  room,  when 
I  noticed  Frank  Slade  go  behind  the  bar  for 


244  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

the  third  or  fourth  time.  He  was  just  lift- 
Ing  a  decanter  of  brandy  when  his  father, 
who  was  considerably  under  the  influence 
of  drink,  started  forward  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  that  of  his  son.  Instantly  a  fierce 
light  gleamed  from  the  eyes  of  the  young 
man. 

"  Let  go  of  my  hand  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  No,  I  won't.  Put  up  that  brandy  bottle 
— you're  drunk  now." 

'"  Don't  meddle  with  me,  old  man  1"  an- 
grily retorted  Frank.  "  I'm  not  in  the  mood 
to  bear  anything  more  from  you." 

"You're  drunk  as  a  fool  now,"  returned 
Slade,  who  had  seized  the  decanter.  "  Let  go 
the  bottle!" 

For  only  an  instant  did  the  young  man 
hesitate.  Then  he  drove  his  half  clenched 
hand  against  the  breast  of  his  father,  who 
went  staggering  away  several  paces  from  the 
counter.  Recovering  himself,  and  now  al- 
most furious,  the  landlord  rushed  forward 
upon  his  son,  his  hand  raised  to  strike  him. 

"Keep  off!"  cried  Frank.  "Keep  off! 
If  you  touch  me.  I'll  strike  you  down  !"  at 
the  same  time  raising  the  half-filled  bottle 
threateningly. 

But  his  father  was  in  too  maddened  a 
stafra  to  fear  any  consequences,  and  so 
prOsed  forward  upon  his  son,  striking  him 
>r  ihe  face  the  moment  he  came  near  enough 

do  so. 

Instantly  the  young  man,  infuriated  by 


NIGHT  THE  NINTH.  245 

drink  and  evil  passions,  threw  the  bottle  at 
his  father's  head.  The  dangerous  missile 
fell,  crashing  upon  one  of  his  temples,  shiv- 
ering it  into  a  hundred  pieces.  A  heavy, 
jarring  fall  too  surely  marked  the  fearful 
consequences  of  the  blow.  When  we  gath- 
ered around  the  fallen  man,  and  made  an 
effort  to  lift  him  from  the  floor,  a  thrill  of 
horror  went  through  every  heart.  A  mortal 
paleness  was  already  on  his  marred  face  and 
the  death-gurgle  in  his  throat !  In  three 
minutes  from  the  time  the  blow  was  struck 
his  spirit  had  gone  upward  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  the  deeds  done  in  the  body. 

"  Frank  Slade,  you  have  murdered  your 
father!" 

Sternly  were  these  terrible  words  uttered. 
It  was  some  time  before  the  young  man 
seemed  to  comprehend  their  meaning.  But 
the  moment  he  realized  the  awful  truth  he 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  horror.  Almost 
at  the  same  instant  a  pistol-shot  came  sharply 
on  the  ear.  But  the  meditated  self-destruc- 
tion was  not  accomplished.  The  aim  was 
not  surely  taken,  and  the  ball  struck  harm- 
lessly against  the  ceiling. 

Half  an  hour  afterward  and  Frank  Slade 
was  a  lonely  prisoner  in  the  county  jail ! 

Does  the  reader  need  a  word  of 'comment 
on  this  fearful  consummation  ?  No :  and 
we  will  offer  none. 


NIGHT   THE  TENTH. 

The  Closing  Scene  at  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf." 

ON  the  day  that  succeeded  the  evening 
of  this  fearful  tragedy,  placards  were  to  be 
seen  all  over  the  village  announcing  a  mass 
meeting  at  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf"  that 
night. 

By  early  twilight  the  people  commenced 
assembling.  The  bar,  which  had  been  closed 
all  day,  was  now  thrown  open  and  lighted, 
and  in  this  room  where  so  much  of  evil  had 
been  originated,  encouraged  and  consum- 
mated, a  crowd  of  earnest-looking  men  were 
soon  gathered.  Among  them  I  saw  the  fine 
person  of  Mr.  Hargrove.  Joe  Morgan — or 
rather  Mr.  Morgan — was  also  of  the  number. 
The  latter  I  would  scarcely  have  recognized 
had  not  some  one  near  me  called  him  by 
name.  He  was  well  dressed,  stood  erect, 
and,  though  there  were  many  deep  lines  on 
his  thoughtful  countenance,  all  traces  of  his 
former  habits  were  gone.  While  I  was  ob- 
serving him  he  arose,  and  addressing  a  few 
words  to  the  assemblage,  nominated  Mr. 
Hargrove  as  chairman  of  the  meeting.  To 
this  a  unanimous  assent  was  given. 

On  taking  the  chair,  Mr.  Hargrove  made  a 
brief  address,  something  to  this  effect : 
(  246  ) 


NIGHT  THE  TENTH.  247 

"  Ten  years  ago,"  said  he,  his  voice  evinc- 
ing a  slight  unsteadiness  as  he  began,  but 
growing  firmer  as  he  proceeded,  "  there  was 
not  a  happier  spot  in  Bolton  county  than 
Cedarville.  Now  the  marks  of  ruin  are 
everywhere.  Ten  years  ago  there  was  a 
kind-hearted,  industrious  miller  in  Cedar- 
ville, liked  by  everyone,  and  as  harmless  as 
a  little  child.  Now  his  bloated,  disfigured 
body  lies  in  that  room.  His  death  was  vio- 
lent, and  by  the  hand  of  his  own  son  1" 

Mr.  Hargrove's  words  fell  slowly,  dis- 
tinctly, and  marked  by  the  most  forcible  em- 
phasis. There  was  scarcely  one  present  who 
did  not  feel  a  low  shudder  run  along  his 
nerves  as  the  last  words  were  spoken  in  a 
huksy  whisper. 

"  Ten  years  ago,"  he  proceeded,  "the  mil- 
ler had  a  happy  wife  and  two  innocent, 
glad-hearted  children.  Now  his  wife,  bereft 
of  reason,  is  in  a  mad-house,  and  his  son 
the  occupant  of  a  felon's  cell,  charged  with 
the  awful  crime  of  parricide !" 

Briefly  he  paused,  while  his  audience 
etood  gazing  upon  him  with  half-suspended 
respiration. 

"  Ten  years  ago,"  he  went  on,  "  Judge 
Hammond  was  accounted  the  richest  man 
in  Cedarville.  Yesterday  he  was  carried,  a 
friendless  pauper,  to  the  Almshouse,  and  to- 
day he  is  the  unmourned  occupant  of  a 
pauper's  grave !  Ten  years  ago  his  wife  was 
the  proud,  hopeful,  loving  mother  of  a  most 


248  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 

promising  son.  I  need  not  describe  what 
Willy  Hammond  was.  All  here  knew  him 
well.  Ah !  what  shattered  the  fine  intellect 
of  that  noble-minded  woman?  Why  did 
her  heart  break?  Where  is  she?  Where 
is  Willy  Hammond  ?" 

A  low,  half-repressed  groan  answered  the 
speaker. 

"Ten  years  ago  you,  sir,"  pointing  to  a 
sad-looking  old  man  and  calling  him  by 
name,  "  had  two  sons — generous,  promising, 
manly-hearted  boys.  What  are  they  now? 
You  need  not  answer  the  question.  Too 
well  is  their  history  and  your  sorrow  known. 
Ten  years  ago  I  had  a  son, — amiable,  kind, 
loving,  but  weak.  Heaven  knows  how  I 
sought  to  guard  and  protect  him !  But  he 
fell  also.  The  arrows  of  destruction  dark- 
ened the  very  air  of  our  once  secure  and 
happy  village.  And  who  was  safe?  Not 
mine,  nor  yours ! 

"  Shall  I  go  on  ?  Shall  I  call  up  and  pass 
in  review  before  you,  one  after  another,  all 
the  wretched  victims  who  have  fallen  in 
Cedarville  during  the  last  ten  years  ?  Time 
does  not  permit.  It  would  take  hours  for 
the  enumeration !  No,  I  will  not  throw  ad- 
ditional darkness  into  the  picture.  Heaven 
knows  it  is  black  enough  already  I  But 
what  is  the  root  of  this  great  evil  ?  Where 
lies  the  fearful  secret?  Who  understands 
the  disease  ?  A  direful  pestilence  is  in  the 
air — it  walketh  in  darkness  and  wasteth  at 


NIGHT  THE  TENTH.  249 

noonday.  It  is  slaying  the  first-born  in  our 
houses,  and  the  cry  of  anguish  is  swelling 
on  every  gale.  Is  there  no  remedy  ?" 

"Yesl  yes!  There  is  a  remedy  I"  was  the 
spontaneous  answer  from  many  voices. 

"  Be  it  our  task,  then,  to  find  and  apply  it 
.,this  night,"  answered  the  chairman,  as  he 
took  his  seat. 

"  And  there  is  but  one  remedy,"  said  Mor- 
gan, as  Mr.  Hargrove  sat  down.  "  The  ac- 
cursed traffic  must  cease  among  us.  You 
must  cut  off  the  fountain  if  you  would  dry 
up  the  stream.  If  you  would  save  the 
young,  the  weak  and  the  innocent — on  you 
God  has  laid  the  solemn  duty  of  their  pro- 
tection— you  must  cover  them  from  the 
tempter.  Evil  is  strong,  wily,  fierce  and 
active  in  the  pursuit  of  its  ends.  The  young, 
the  weak  and  the  innocent  can  no  more  re- 
sist its  assaults  than  the  lamb  can  resist  the 
wolf.  They  are  helpless,  if  you  abandon 
them  to  the  powers  of  evil.  Men  and  breth- 
ren 1  as  one  who  has  himself  been  wellnigh 
lost— as  one  who  daily  feels  and  trembles  at 
the  dangers  that  beset  his  path — I  do  con- 
jure you  to  stay  the  fiery  stream  that  is 
bearing  everything  good  and  beautiful  among 
you  to  destruction.  Fathers !  for  the  sake  of 
your  young  children,  be  up  now  and  doing. 
Think  of  Willy  Hammond,  Frank  Slade,  and 
a  dozen  more  whose  names  I  could  repeat, 
and  hesitate  no  longer  1  Let  us  resolve  this 
night  that  from  henceforth  the  traffic  shall 


250  TEN  NIGHT3  IN  A  BAR-BOOM. 

cease  in  Cedarville.  Is  there  not  a  large  ma- 
jority of  citizens  in  favor  of  such  a  measure  ? 
And  whose  rights  or  interests  can  be  affected 
by  such  a  restriction?  Who,  in  fact,  has 
any  right  to  sow  disease  and  death  in  our 
community  ?  The  liberty,  under  sufferance 
to  do  so,  wrongs  the  individual  who  uses  it 
as  well  as  those  who  become  its  victims. 
Do  you  want  proof  of  this  ?  Look  at  Simon 
Slade,  the  happy,  kind-hearted  miller,  and 
at  Simon  Slade,  the  tavern-keeper.  Was  he 
benefited  by  the  liberty  to  work  harm  to 
his  neighbor?  No !  no!  In  heaven's  name, 
then,  let  the  traffic  cease  I  To  this  end  I 
offer  these  resolutions : — 

"  Be  it  resolved  by  the  inhabitants  of 
Cedarville,  That  from  this  day  henceforth  no 
more  intoxicating  drink  shall  be  sold  within 
the  limits  of  the  corporation. 

"  Resolved,  further,  That  all  the  liquors  in 
the  'Sickle  and  Sheaf  be  forthwith  de- 
stroyed, and  that  a  fund  be  raised  to  pay  the 
creditors  of  Simon  Slade  therefor,  should 
they  demand  compensation. 

"  Resolved,  That  in  closing  up  all  other 
places  where  liquor  is  sold  regard  shall  be 
had  to  the  right  of  property  which  the  law 
secures  to  every  man. 

"  Resolved,  That  with  the  consent  of  the 
legal  authorities  all  the  liquor  for  sale  in 
Cedarville  be  destroyed,  provided  the  owners 
thereof  be  paid  its  full  value  out  of  a  fund 
specially  raised  for  that  purpose." 


NIOHT  THE  TENTH.  251 

But  for  the  calm  yet  resolute  opposition 
of  one  or  two  men  these  resolutions  would 
have  passed  by  acclamation.  A  little  sober 
argument  showed  the  excited  company  that 
no  good  end  is  ever  secured  by  the  adoption 
of  wrong  means. 

There  were  in  Cedarville  regularly  consti- 
tuted authoritieSjWhich  alone  had  the  power 
to  determine  public  measures,  or  to  say  what 
business  might  or  might  not  be  pursued  by 
individuals.  And  through  these  authorities 
they  must  act  in  an  orderly  way. 

There  was  some  little  chafing  at  this  view 
of  the  case.  But  good  sense  and  reason 
prevailed.  Somewhat  modified,  the  resolu- 
tions passed,  and  the  more  ultra-inclined 
contented  themselves  with  carrying  out  the 
second  resolution — to  destroy  forthwith  all 
the  liquor  to  be  found  on  the  premises — 
which  was  immediately  done.  After  which 
the  people  dispersed  to  their  homes,  each 
with  a  lighter  heart  and  better  hopes  for  the 
future  of  their  village. 

On  the  next  day,  as  I  entered  the  stage 
that  was  to  bear  me  from  Cedarville,  I  saw 
a  man  strike  his  sharp  axe  into  the  worn, 
faded  and  leaning  post  that  had  for  so  many 
years  borne  aloft  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf;" 
and  just  as  the  driver  gave  word  to  his 
horses,  the  false  emblem  which  had  invited 
so  many  to  enter  the  way  of  destruction  fell 
crashing  to  the  earth. 


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